Great Men - Ministers of The End
by compleatmoon
Summary: The Time War shook all of reality. Planets burned, stars were torn to shreds, and people were pushed beyond their limits; becoming monsters and desolate, empty shells. The Doctor, The Master, Romana, and countless soldiers all fighting and bleeding - all dying. Tales from the Time War, of nightmares, of gods, and tales of the monstrous follow.
1. Chapter 1 - Wartorn

"Please... please. D-Don't let me die."

Tired cries fell on the uncaring landscape. Explosions could be heard in the distance. The grand chorus in this song of war, accompanied by verses of cascading laser fire. The lone soldier crawled along the ground, her uniform torn to shreds. Was she a Thaal? A Kaled? Did it matter? There were so few differences between them these days.

"Please..."

Private First Class Wessler was not a religious woman. She never had time, nor a particularly strong inclination for such things. Baz, the medic in her battalion had always tried to get her to read scripture, insisting that it was what she needed in these troubling times. She paid him no mind, citing that there was no end to all this. No words of comfort in a book would help them.

Baz died, screaming. His legs were blown clean off. His last action was to give her his holy book, in the hopes that in dying, his last act would have some meaning. Perhaps it did. The rain of laser fire that had killed Wessler's battalion happened to miss all her vital spots. Her legs were torn up, but unlike Baz's, they were functional. The Laser bolt that would've pierced her heart was actually stopped by the book in her breast pocket. She was thankful for this. She wished she had listened to Baz, all those weeks ago. She wished for the comfort that he found in the words that she had found so hollow. She wished for so much.

The dust in the air kicked up from the surrounding battles was think in the air. It bore into her skin; tore at her face. The cloud was a permanence. The product of mountains torn asunder, of valleys razed. The results of so many battles across the planet Skaro. Wessler's was not the first, nor was it the last. Never the last.

As she crawled, she kept her head down. Partly because she wanted to make herself a small a target as possible, but also because she hadn't the strength to lift it. Yet something was amiss. She could feel it. More accurately, she could hear it. Voices on the wind, amidst the fighting.

These voices were not in the forms of crazed battles cries. The pathetic weeping was nowhere to be found. What Wessler heard was conversation. Was this her salvation? She was driven forward by new hope for rescue, raising her head ever so slightly. The poor girl never could have known what she was crawling towards. Two men, harbingers of unimaginable terror. Ministers of the end of all things.

One man was tall. He was thin; gaunt even. He was clothed in a black robe that covered everything but his face. She strained to even see arms or legs. All she was a man's face sitting atop a thin black pillar, carrying nothing but dark purpose.

The other man was odd, in contrast. He hunched, kept his hands buried in his trouser pockets, his head careening around, staring like a child in a sweets shop. He wore a red jacket of some sort. It popped out of the haze like a target. A tattered hat sat on a head of puffy hair. What was most curious was the multi-colored scarf around his neck. It was long. Too long, she thought. It dragged along the ground as the two of them walked.

Were they not worried that someone would find them? The both of them were like walking targets out here. She strained to hear what they were talking about.

The man in the black robe spoke. "You enjoy the freedom we allow you. In return, occasionally, not continually, we ask you to do something for us."

The man in the scarf and hat stood strong despite his hunched posture. "I won't do it. Whatever it is, I refuse."

What could they have been speaking about? Why weren't they in uniform? Where were their weapons? So man questions raced through Wessler's mind. These men felt wrong. Their presence here felt wrong. They did not belong. Wessler's thoughts were cut short by the uttering of a single word from the man in black.

"Daleks."

The man in the scarf and hat turned to the other, attention obviously caught. There was weight to the word. Impossible weight that Wessler had no way of comprehending. Why did the word give her such pause? There was so much venom in the way they spoke it. So much fear.

Dalek, she thought. Dalek, Dalek, Dalek. This would be the last word that Private First Class Wessler would hear before succumbing to her wounds. Her body would never be found. Another victim in an endless war. A war that no one could remember the reason for. It had become a constant. Synonymous with life on Skaro. War was all they knew.


	2. Chapter 2 - Time Flies

"Pause memory." A voice rang out. The dust in the air ground to a halt, the Skaro winds freezing. The two men stood still, gazes locked. Nearby, and just out of view, the body of a dead soldier lay. She was as still as she was when the memory was playing. She was unchanging. A constant. A man emerged from the cloud, walking through it without touching it. It was a projection of his mind, after all.

The man wore a tattered leather jacket. Cracks ran across the dark brown exterior. Over it, an empty bandolier. His brown waistcoat was tattered. His pants, boot coverings, even his little brown scarf; all tattered. The word embodied the man. The skin on his face, cracked like his jacket. His face was spotted with the tiny beginnings of a beard, little spots of black resting all over his face. His hair was black and wiry, but altogether short and manageable.

The Doctor examined the scene. However it was not his fourth incarnation and Valyestriandriluma he was focusing on. The Doctor was focused on the dead soldier. He walked past himself over to her, and kneeled down.

"If I had only looked over..." The Doctor muttered to himself, "Perhaps... perhaps you would've had a chance."

The Doctor wondered about her for a long time, sitting there, bygone days frozen around him. Did she have a family? Did they miss her? What was she fighting for? He made a habit of this on occasion; tirelessly going over past events, wondering what he could've done differently. This was the first time, in all the times he had gone over this memory, that he noticed her. Another ghost. Another face in a crowd of the dead.

"I'm sorry."

A new voice spoke up, having just entered the room.

"Resume memory." The newcomer said.

The dust once again began its eternal dance. The Doctor's fourth incarnation began speaking again, his voice filled with piqued curiosity.

My fourth life, he thought to himself, a naive romantic. Soft. Easily malleable with talk of the greater good, or the promise of a revolution.

What was once associated with so many happy memories was now nothing but nearly unbearable regret.

"Daleks? Tell me more."

The Doctor did not turn to watch himself speak, nor to meet the eyes of the newcomer in the room. This new element was all he had, at the moment. He was intent on experiencing it; losing himself in it.

"We foresee a time when they will have destroyed all other life forms and became the dominant creature in the universe."

The Doctor stared intently at Wessler, her hair being blown around by the winds. It was longer than you'd expect a solider to wear. Was this significant? Some last expression of self in a war that burned the self away?

The newcomer finally entered the projection proper. "Valyes was such a fool," she said. "The Chancellor of the High Council. How could he have been so short-sighted?"

The Doctor considered this for a moment. He stood up, turning to face his friend. Her face was sharp. Sharper than it had ever been in their time together. This wasn't a face he had not seen before, but he still needed time to get used to it. Straight brown hair, tied back in a ponytail was draped along her left shoulder. Neat and even bangs sat over her eyebrows. Underneath were deep blue eyes, a sharp nose, and thin lips. She was a stern-looking woman, now. Made so by her time in office.

"The same could be asked of all of us, Romana."

It was true, as much as they both hated to admit it. They believed there were countless times this could've been averted.

"Why are you watching this again?" she asked. They both knew the answer, but she felt the need to ask, regardless. It was not the first time she had asked, and it was far from the first time either of them had caught the other lost in the past.

"I don't know. I come back to this moment, always. Looking, perhaps? Trying to figure out if there was something I'd missed. Some tiny detail that could unravel the web we find ourselves in."

The Doctor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was tired.

"Doctor..." Romana started to speak, but was cut off buy the projection of Valyes. The Doctor too, about to scold her, found himself interrupted. He was a picture of their past refusing to leave them be. A specter hanging over their heads.

"...affect their genetic development so that they evolve..."

Romana sighed. She had no love for Valyes. The fact that his projection was interrupting her, mirroring their time in congress, did not help his rather low standing with her.

"This is set in stone. It always was. This is where it began, and I don't believe you'll get anything from these two. But you have found something new, haven't you?"

Romana's finger came up, guiding the Doctor's gaze to Wessler's body. The Doctor again seemed to lose himself as he stared at her. Romana didn't know what to do. Times were different, now. The playfulness that may have once defined their relationship was all but gone. She decided to take a risk, edging closer to him in measured steps. She reached out, and lay a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

The Doctor quickly whipped around, her hand being torn away from his shoulder. He looked at her, with a sort of shock in his eyes. Was it shock? She considered this for a moment. Shock, punctuated by a deep-seated worry, perhaps. He looked outwardly frightened, as if afraid of physical contact. He moved as one would expect a soldier under fire; quickly, and reflexively. The Doctor too, realized what he had done. During any other life, he would have welcomed the comforting embrace of familiar company. Especially now that he and Romana mirrored each other, so. New faces. Long, tired ones. Once chipper, upbeat personalities beaten and worn down to the bone.

"You're here," Valyes once again spoke, a tone of mocking indignation evident. "This is Skaro."

"Cease playback." The Doctor said quietly.

The memory began to fade, much like one would expect a TARDIS would. The process was slower, with the horizon vanishing first. As it did, the Gallifreyan memory chamber faded back into view. The dust of Skaro vanished, the four walls flanking The Doctor and Romana now fully visible.

A staircase appeared, leading down and away from the platform. Below, a long hallway leading out of the chamber, large ornate pillars on either side. Monuments to the decadence of this place. As Wessler faded from view, The Doctor offered her one last mournful glance.

The last part of the memory to vanish was The Doctor himself. Romana once again stood at The Doctor's side, both their eyes falling on his Fourth, fading life.

"What happened to us?" Romana asked.

Curiously, she seemed to be regarding the projection, instead of the genuine article standing next to her. As the smiling face of the man with the hat and scarf vanished, the gruff, almost angry voice of the current Doctor rang out.

"We became old." Romana wanted to say she missed them. She wanted to tell him the truth. She missed him, those times they shared, everything. She could not bring herself to, though she couldn't pinpoint exactly why. The Doctor too, found himself in the same position.

There they stood, two strangers. Neither had the will, or perhaps the desire to grasp at the flickering embers of happiness fading away before them.

"Why are you here, Romana?" The Doctor finally asked, looking away from the spot where Wessler once lay.

"The council has requested my presence. Quite out of the blue, actually. I was hoping you could join me." She tilted her head, a dry smile creeping up on her face.

The Doctor did not return it. "They'd let you bring me of all people sit in on their congress?"

Romana's brow furrowed. Her back straightened, taking a stance more in line with her current station.

"I am the Lady President. I can do what I damn well please."

At this, The Doctor laughed, taking an exaggerated curtsey. The action seemed to surprise him and Romana equally. Perhaps the past wasn't so far off, after all. The Doctor, not backing down, as he was already in too deep at this point, spoke.

"I would be honored to accompany you, Lady President."

"Respect for authority, Doctor? That is certainly a first." Romana playfully countered. The Doctor's face grew weary, his eyes seeming to glaze over slightly.

"That's not my name anymore."

The Doctor made his way off the memory projection platform by way of the stairs, heading down into the hallway towards the exit. Romana did not move, her habit of calling him by that name all those years still seemed to bite her every now and again. She opted to fix her robes instead of following. As The Doctor made his way down towards the exit, he turned around.

"Well?" He asked, some of the light that Romana had loved having returned. "We're going to be late."

No matter the face, no matter the life, the light that The Doctor seemed to exude was infectious. He lifted his arm in offering to her.

Romana, having fixed the supposed problems with her robe, rushed down to greet him. She linked her arm with his, and off they went. Romana closed her eyes for a moment. In her mind's eye, they were back in Paris on Earth, walking through the Louvre. In another instance, they walked along the translucent steps of the Starbrand staircase, wreathed in the blessed light of infinite possibility. She was happy for the briefest of moments, the door of the memory chamber opening and snapping her out of it.

"I miss your scarf." She said. "That old thing?" The Doctor scoffed. "What I have now is so much more sensible."

The Doctor adjusted his scarf, as if he was soothing it, trying to reassure it despite Romana's words.

"Boring is the word I'd use." She said, blankly. The Doctor smiled, but said nothing else. Turn two of them silently walked on, the Panoptican awaiting.


	3. Chapter 3 - Mondas: Pest Control

The planet Mondas at one point, rotated along the same axis of Earth. For those that bothered to know about such things, it was colloquially known as Earth's twin. Some accounts, dating back to time forgotten, suggested it was created by Destiny. The term "Destiny" was broad enough on its own by virtue. The inconclusive reports did not add any credibility to the already tenuous theory. However, any learned mind that found itself meditating on the nature of Mondas would take pause. It was too similar to Earth. The ecosystem, the climate; even the continents, though inverted, were wholly identical. Perhaps it was some grand experiment? Put forth by a force long forgotten? Destiny? Was there some greater game out there, being played at the edge of the collective perception?

The questions raised by musing on Mondas' nature often took precedence over the questions raised by Mondas itself. It was relegated to one of hundreds, perhaps thousands of smaller questions. The questions were all asked, hoping the sum total of all their answers would tell us why we were here; what our purpose in an ever-expanding universe was.

Inane ramblings of galactic philosophers aside, Mondas was significant for another reason: It was the birthplace of the Cybermen. The forming of Earth's moon destabilized the fragile balance that Earth and Mondas shared, and it was knocked off its axis, flying towards the edge of space. The people knew that if they were to survive, they would have to adapt. They would have to evolve. To survive, the Mondasians would have to upgrade. They chipped away at their humanity, shedding more and more of it until nothing remained. And in the end, the Cybermen were born.

One faction opted to stay on Mondas, eventually moving to suck the energy out of Earth and save their doomed world. The others took to the stars, splitting off into dozens of different factions, all with the same purpose: To survive. To save the universe by upgrading it.

The Cybermen became an established galactic presence, crushing entire cities under their cold, metallic boots. They always added to their ranks, like reapers harvesting souls. They grew. Like some swollen mass, they grew. It was only natural that the Daleks came for them during the great war. The Mondasian Cybermen at this point in time had not yet been fought off by The Doctor's first incarnation. They were young, stumbling over themselves.

On that fateful day on Mondas, a day that never should have been, Cybermen would look up into the sky. They cast their eyes to the Heavens, and were met with the gaping maw of Hell. Great saucers slicing through the night-time expanse would begin bombarding them with laser fire. It was an image that would be burned into the collective Cybermen consciousness. Great glowing bolts of blue raining down on them; burning the dead forests, shocking and tearing up the ground, ripping them in twain. It would be an image that across the farthest reaches of space would rally them to this new cause. The Mondasians were confused, at first unable to process what was happening. It was not until their communication units picked up the storm of screaming. One thousand Daleks, all chanting one word:

"EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!"

The Daleks had declared war. The Cybermen would not back down. The Cybermen would meet them with all they had.


	4. Chapter 4 - Bureaucracy

The Doctor and Romana made their way through the Citadel arm-in-arm. They walked as a Lord and Lady would; heads high, backs straight. The both of them paid no mind to the stares from passing guards and officiaries; It was apparent that nothing would bother them. For a brief few minutes, neither of them had a care in the world.

"Did they tell you what the summoning was about?" The Doctor asked.

"No." She replied. "They usually let me know far ahead of time."

Romana was worried, this much was clear. As they grew closer to the Panoptican, she made less and less of an effort to mask it.

"You'd think they'd keep their Lady President informed..." The Doctor said, voice panged with worry.

"I'll be sure to give them a pierce of my mind." She responded.

As the two came up to the large doors leading to the Panoptican, they paused. The doors were adorned with the Seal of Rassilon; with long lines darting out from the Seal and curving off into spirals. The ends of each line were capped with Gallifreyan sigils, names of great lords and ladies across Time Lord History. The Doctor and Romana regarded each other with an odd look. It was a perplexing mix of the weariness that weighed down on them and the jovial undercurrent to their relationship. Their arms fell back to their sides, parting and dangling limp in the air.

"Once more on to the breach..." Romana wearily said.

The Doctor nodded, solemnly moving to open the door. Before he could put a hand on it however, the doors swung open on their own. He sighed, shaking his head. Romana confidently strode in before him. The Doctor watched all the faces in the room regard Romana as she entered. There was the expected reverence, he initially thought.

Upon his second glance, The Doctor was perturbed; they all had something different about them, the High Council. Hints of a smirk crept along the face of one of them. One didn't sit up properly as Romana entered. Time Lords were nothing if not slaves to ritual. A sudden lapse in this trend was something to be noted.

The Doctor finally entered the room, having stopped himself from his eternal musings; or at least, temporarily. The room was suitably large, with pillars on the far sides of the room connecting to a sprawling roof. The floor was a crisp marble, dulled by thousands of years of pacing and indecision. In the center of the room, flanked by the high council, was a large ovular table. It seemed to be made of wood, a testament to how long it stood. Mirroring the door outside, Gallifreyan sigils were carved into its surface.

"Lady President." The Lady Cardinal, a stern woman named Syla said, speaking presumably for the entire room. "Are you well?"

Syla gave off the unmistakable aura of "going-through-the-motion-ness", The Doctor thought.

"What I am, Syla," Romana quickly snapped, "is curious as to why you called me here with no given reason." Romana paused, taking a deep breath. "I'd only expect such disregard for protocol if Gallifrey was falling."

Another council member named Karlax; a rather pompous man, even for the Time Lords, sat up in all the pomp and circumstance one would expect from him.

"With respect, Lady President, if Gallifrey was falling, you wouldn't need us to tell you, would you?"

A number of the table snickered as Karlax spoke, Romana's stare pushing him back into his chair. Romana turned back to Syla.

"Well? What is it then?" The Doctor stood respectfully by the door. Romana's eyes darted over to him every now and again. The small exchanges, while wordless, offered both of them the tiniest of comforts.

"The council has been keeping an eye on the war as it has been unfolding. We know it intimately." Syla started.

The Doctor, having actually fought on several fronts of the war, rolled his eyes in annoyance and grunted. He had never seen any of these Time Lords ride into battle, and he was also fairly certain none of them had ever experience live combat. The council ignored him keeping their collective gaze on Syla and Romana.

"As such, we are forced to take... inventory of our current state of affairs." Syla said.

Romana narrows her eyes. "Take inventory?"

Syla sat up, the other councilors mirroring the gesture. "Certain things have become clear. Mainly, Lady President, The Daleks are winning. They are winning and if that is to change, something must be done differently."

Syla motioned to The Doctor as she spoke, as if looking for confirmation. The Doctor gave the council nothing. He stood at attention, outwardly refusing to confirm or deny anything that was being said. Romana appreciated the gesture more than The Doctor could know. Yet on the inside, he knew they were at least partially right. Something needed to be done.

"I am still waiting for your point, Lady Cardinal." Romana said, crossing her arms.

Syla cleared her throat. "The point, Lady President, is that if things do not soon take a more satisfying turn, your position in office will have to be re-considered."

There was a silence in the room. None of the councilors dared to speak up, and both The Doctor and Romana were stunned. This was a bold move, even for them. To compromise the Presidency at such a tumultuous time? To throw reason to the air and waste time and effort re-establishing the authority of a new office? Romana furrowed her brow, considering her words. The Doctor was the one who broke the silence.

"What gives you the right?" He demanded. Karlax answered quickly, snapping back at The Doctor.

"We have every right, Doctor! Unlike you! Your voice falls on deaf ears here." Karlax sneered as he flaunted his authority in The Doctor's face.

"Deaf ears. I have never heard a more apt description of this council." The Doctor countered.

Karlax, in anger, turned to Romana, as if waiting for her to scold the man who had just insulted them. He was met with nothing but a knowing smile on her part. She was quite pleased she had brought The Doctor along. It made the petty bureaucracy so much more entertaining. Karlax fell into silence, simmering angrily in his seat.

"You'd replace me then?" Romana calmly asked.

The council was taken slightly aback. They did not expect a calm response.

"If need be, Lady President. Desperate times." Syla said.

"Desperate times..." Karlax quietly echoed.

"With whom?" Romana asked, probing the council for whatever information she could.

"With whoever we have to, Lady President." Syla said, with a degree of finality that disturbed Romana.

The Doctor too had picked up on this. A vein in his head became more prominent, while Romana wound her fingers together tightly, squeezing for some attempt at relief. Was this foreshadowing on their part? Or just their usual snide remarks? The Doctor considered these questions, running the possibilities through his mind. All courses pointed to the former, worrying him.

"People are dying out there. Not only ours, but millions, perhaps billions. And all the while, instead of focusing on the war, you dedicate pointless time putting together this meeting, neglecting your own duties, tearing me away from mine... and for what? Veiled threats?"

The council did not speak up, keeping their eyes on their feet as if they were children being scolded by a mother.

"Perhaps, it is you who need to change your tactics... Lest I replace you with a council that has bloody BACKBONE!" At that last word, she slammed her fist on the table.

The Doctor could not help but smile.

"Get back to the War. Save some lives. Save all of our lives. I expect updates on all the fronts of the War sent to my desk. If we don't have any info, why? Who was the fool who left a temporal stone unturned? Get that info. Get the full picture. Strategize. Fight back, and stop wasting my time!"

With that, Romana turned away from the High Council, taking angry steps to the door.

The Doctor moved to open the door for her. "Lady President." he said, moving his hand to the door.

Before he could touch it however, the door opened on its own. He sighed.

"Doctor." Romana replied, formally. "Would you kindly escort me out?"

The Doctor nodded, rather vexed that Romana called him that again, but he had no desire to compromise her image in front of the council; especially after what he had just witnessed. He turned back to the High Council, studying them one last time. They said nothing, exchanging nervous glances. From outside, Romana cleared her throat. The Doctor, snapping out of his trance, answered.

"Coming, coming." He left the Panoptican, the door slamming shut behind him.

Romana regarded him. "Shall we head up to the observation deck?"

The Doctor nodded, offering his arm. Romana simply shook her head and turned to move down the hallway. The Doctor frowned, but caught up with her.

"They are losing faith in me." She said, keeping her eyes forward.

"Their expectations of you are entirely too steep, Romana. The Daleks are relentless. Anyone would have trouble facing them. The fact that we're still alive is a testament to your time in office."

The two continued walking, making their way to the door leading up to the observation deck. The Doctor jogged ahead to the door, turning back to Romana. He waited there, watching her catch up. She approached The Doctor, crossing her arms and raising a brow. The Doctor turned back to the door. It stayed shut. There was a moment where neither of them made any movement. This was broken by an exasperated sigh on Romana's part. She stepped up to the door, opened it, and walked right through, shaking her head.

"Hopeless." She said, smiling to herself. The Doctor followed her up the stairs.

"Only most of the time." He responded.


	5. Chapter 5 - Ribos: Last Dance

( _Then_ )

"Mason?"

Mason walked toward Laris, holding his hands out and letting the tall red grass tickle his fingers as he moved.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you." He responded, catching up to her.

Up this high, you could actually see the sky trenches. Laris loved looking up at them, sometimes sitting for hours and losing herself in the shimmering, sky-bound shields. She was an artist, through and through, doing the impossible with a bit of ink and a sheet of parchment.

"Able." She said.

"Able what?"

"That's what I want to call our son. Able."

"Why?"

She looked at him and smiled, the soft winds blowing through her long, beautiful black hair. Mason was a farmer's boy, and he always had been. Seeing her wandering through his father's fields one day, he thought he was looking at an angel. She took a fascination with him; she called it a professional curiosity. And he, her; nothing professional about it.

"Laris?"

"What?" She asked, looking as if she had lost her way.

"Why Able?"

"Why not?" She asked.

( _Now)_

"Soldier! Soldier! Private MASON!" The Time Lord frustratingly searched around the base, his robes following him in a flurry.

He was a tall, foppish sort of fellow, his robes and skull cap were just too tight on his head, no doubt adding to his already sour mood.

"MASON!" His voice echoed throughout the base.

No one liked being around when he was on his tirades. He had a disturbing penchant for humiliating those under him, and morale was at an all time low. Soldiers who weren't beaten down by Lord Fop (as he was colloquially called), were embittered towards him. All others; scientists, civilians, knew to keep away.

Mason had come from a time where the war had not naturally occurred. Was it before the war had started? After? Was there an after? Was there even a before by which to measure the start of this war? All Mason knew was that he was doing his duty. He had a purpose now. Sadly, that purpose was being a glorified busboy for Lord Fop. Mason took all of Fop's punishments. Being small in stature, he was an easy target for the unusually tall Fop.

Fop was hulking down the corridor leading to the roof. He was fuming, all of his inherent self-importance fueling his strides; the critical flaw of the Time Lords. Upon reaching the roof, Fop's eyes darted to his prey; a soldier standing at the edge of the platform, intently watching the horizon.

Fop had no love for this planet. He had no love for the position he found himself in. He was a member of the upper echelon of Time Lord society. How dare they, he thought. How dare they assign him to this backwater planet. The place was barren, with no incidents occurring since he was sent here. Though he would never openly admit it, some part of him was glad nothing happened. However, he wanted glory. Glory did not come from doing nothing in some nowhere outpost at the edge of whatever system in the galaxy of who-gives-a-damn.

Mason was scanning the landscape for signs of trouble. He was one of the few who still took his duties seriously. Ribos was a planet in the medieval stage of development. It had no knowledge of the universe past the stars in its sky, and it was doubtful, Mason thought, that they even knew the full geography of their planet. They were primitive; early in their possibly flourishing development.

This war could end them, Mason thought. It could wipe them from existence and no one would remember them. Who would take the time to? Certainly not Lord Fop. Would Mason remember? He couldn't say.

In these times of unrest, Mason would secure a guard shift on the roof. This was a place he could lose himself in the beautiful untouched landscape of the planet. Ribos had two seasons; winter and summer, each lasting decades. It was winder now, light flakes performing a multitude of random dances through the air. Mason would look up at the white sky, the snow seeming to just pop into view, darting away as quick as they were spotted. As the snow fell, casting itself across Ribos, Mason's gaze did the same.

Instead of dazzling spires, Mason found comfort in the low-dipping hills, dotting the whitened horizon like imperfections across the surface of a painting; grooves created by brush strokes that you could guide your finger through. These imperfections, contrary to everything Mason had known, were something that he reveled in. They gave the place a natural perfection, Mason thought. A natural perfection criminally unseen by the people of Gallifrey.

"MASON!" Lord Fop screeched.

Whatever peace Mason had been able to glean was rather instantly torn away. He turned, bowing to Fop. He dipped his head low. He knew Fop liked it that way, and he didn't wish to anger him anymore than he already had.

"My dinner." He said, coldly.

Among other duties, Mason found himself preparing Lord Fop's meals. His palette was outlandish, especially considering the primitive surroundings they found themselves in.

"Sorry sir!" He said, lips trembling. "I thought..." Mason was unceremoniously interrupted by Fop's screeching.

"You thought?! What you think, boy, is of little consequence!" As Fop ranted, Mason sensed something was amiss. He couldn't place it, but something in the air had changed.

"I am commander of this outpost, and I must be well fed! What if there was an attack and I wasn't ready?!" Mason didn't answer.

Fop had a terrible habit of neglecting to mark if he was speaking rhetorically or not.

"Well?!" He blared. "I am waiting!"

Mason piped up. "With respect, Sir... I was watching for the attacks you should be prepared for. It was my shift after all."

Mason didn't look up at him, trying to focus on this new feeling of his. Something dark was gnawing at him, and his mind screamed to know what it was. Fop's nostrils flared, the anger building continually.

"Fetch another guard, then!" As you can see, there is no danger! Nothing is coming! Nothing is..." As Lord Fop threw his arms outward to motion to the air around him, he paused.

For once, the great Lord Fop was at a loss for words. Mason looked up, expectant of a verbal (or perhaps physical) lashing that never came. As he peered upwards, Fop seemed worlds away. It took Mason a moment to process what he was seeing. It was the snow. The dance had stopped, and the snow was frozen in midair.

"Wh-Wha...?" Lord Fop stuttered. "Are we under some sort of... t-temporal.. a-a-attack?!"

He darted about the rood in a haze, glancing at the snow around him and wildly motioning, as if trying to make it move again. Fop had no such luck. Before he could turn his anger towards Mason again, a violent tremor seemed to shake the entire planet. The two of them were slammed into the ground.

The base shuddered, as if ready to crack and splinter under the weight of this unseen new force. Lord Fop's communication unit roared to life.

"SIR! SIR! Are you alright? Something's... something's coming! Something large! Impossibly large! RIGHT TOWARDS US!" The soldier, a stern man named Rusch, was clearly panicking.

Mason turned to see Lord Fop already running for the hallway leading inside. He followed soon after, taking one last look at the Ribos expanse. This look cost him everything, it seemed. As he started for the hallway, another tremor hit. This one was larger and even more powerful than the last, shaking the base so violently that he found that his feet were off the ground.

He was tumbling through the air, trying desperately to grab at something to steady himself. By the time he realized he had been launched off the edge of the outpost, it was too late. He was falling, now; tumbling to the ground, so far below.


	6. Chapter 6 - Through The Glass

The Doctor loved the observation tower. It was a reminder of hope for him. He cherished this because there were so few of those left, these days. He thought back to his time at the academy, when he was a young man. He was a rebel back then; playing incessant pranks, running off with friends. He would smile, remembering those bright times.

The first time he was brought up there, at least officially so, was with his graduating class at the academy. They were being shown the fruits of the Time Lord's labor, the higher-ups trying to instill the patented Time Lord pride in them at an early age. Unofficially, he and his friends had broken in many times before the tower was completed.

The Doctor thought back on his friends, The Deca. They were, for better or for worse, the top ten students in their year. They were a curious lot, always sticking their noses in places they didn't belong. They Gallifreyan rebels without a cause. They were Time Lord youth in revolt. Or at least The Doctor was. They truly did belong together. Their teachers knew it, and they knew it too.

They struck an odd balance between top-notch students and disturbers of the peace; a balance that The Doctor tried very hard to maintain over the years.

"I used to come here all the time, Romana. In my first life. Did I ever tell you?"

As the two of them finally made their way up the stairs, she answered. "You never mentioned it. Though, back then, the tower wasn't finished? That is, if I'm remembering correctly?"

The Doctor chuckled, moving over to the window. His hands met an ornate bronze railing, his fingers settling into the gentle grooves across its surface.

"No, it wasn't finished, but we never let that stop us."

Romana joined him, standing close enough so that their shoulders touched. It was a purposeful action, a small amount of contact to ground them; whatever that entailed in these troubled times.

"We?" Romana inquired.

"Yes, right.. I never told you about the Deca, did I?"

The Doctor ran his hand through his hair, regarding the skyline. The buildings seemed to pierce the sky, standing tall and proud as its inhabitants did.

"You never mentioned them. We never really spoke of academy time."

In Romana's case, there wasn't much to tell. She had worked hard. She worked harder than all her peers, studied for centuries, and committed herself to becoming someone worthy of the position she currently held. There was nothing to tell. It was a blur, culminating with a graduation at the top of her class, years ahead of everyone else. Feeling safe in The Doctor's presence, she picked a comfortable spot on the floor and sat down, crossing her legs.

"We were the top students in our class, I remember."

The Doctor's eyes traced the outline of the central spire as he spoke, trying to keep in mind the embellishments he was making, even as he spoke. The truth of his friends was not something he readily gave up to anyone, if only to spare those he still could hold close.

The Doctor reached into his coat, pulling out his sonic screwdriver. He examined it for a moment; deep, meaningful eyes looking over it.

"My friend," He started, "My friend Drax was actually the one who convinced me to start working on this." He tossed it in the air, catching it expertly.

"Through this, he's saved my life more times than I can count."

Romana sat there, staring up at him. Why bring this up now? Was he trying to avoid other topics? Surely there were other, more important things to discuss besides his classroom antics. She refrained from interrupting, however. She wanted to know where The Doctor was going with this.

"One night, Koschei..." The Doctor hesitated as he said the name, as if the very uttering of it caused him pain or discomfort.

"Koschei convinced me to come to the top of the tower to cast our eyes on the unfinished spires in the distance. He wanted to relish in all of it. The Time Lord pride started early with him. He knew the screwdriver could break into the door, so we visited the deck regularly."

The Doctor removed his jacket, hanging it on the railing with a great amount of care. He sat down in front of Romana on the floor, mimicking her posture. The tips of their knees touched.

"Koschei and I... we always did enjoy a good view, despite him not being the romantic. That was my burden to bear, it seems. Still, it was something we could share. The sun... would kiss the tops of the mountains when it rose. It filled the skeletal structures of the city, permeating, no, no, imbuing the city with a soft glow. We must have sat here for hours, whenever we could... Until..." The Doctor paused, unsure as to how to phrase the next words.

"Until?" Romana asked, sufficiently curious.

The Doctor seemed to brighten up slightly as he spoke. "Until the invisibility unit that Drax had built another two of my friends, Rallon and Millenia shorted out. Koschei and I caught them together up here." The Doctor shuddered slightly, the by-product of a stifled chuckle.

"Together?" Romana asked, quirking a brow. "Yes. Right where you are sitting, actually." The Doctor said, the chuckle starting to break out.

Romana immediately stood up, straightening her robes out in a huff. The Doctor watched her as she got up, continuing.

"Koschei wanted to blackmail the two of them. Always looking for something to hold over other people, he was. I convinced him to just let them be. You should have seen the two of them as we were talking about it in front of them. They were livid. It was quite funny, at the time."

"You sounded like you lot were a nightmare..." Romana replied.

She started pacing around the room, running her hand along the window every now and again.

"Only when we were bored." The Doctor pulled himself up, turning to face Romana with a curious look. "What are you doing?"

Romana stopped, pulling her hand away from the window. "I... you're not the only one with rituals regarding this place, and mine are much less crass." The two shared a smile as Romana continued.

"I sometimes come up here and run my hand along the glass. From a certain perspective, it looks as if my hands are touching the buildings themselves. Like... Like I'm some sort of god."

"Romana..."

She interrupted him before he could go on. "Please, let me finish." She sighed, collecting herself again. "I am the Lady President of one of the most powerful races the universe has ever seen. I can live for thousands of years, I can bend space and time... I may as well be a god. Yet the glass." Romana tapped the glass with her hand, the gentle pang ringing out through the room.

"The glass keeps me from actually touching the buildings... It grounds me. Reminds me that no matter what, that's not who I am. I have a duty to keep all of us safe. To make sure this glass doesn't shatter, so that we never become that which we are fighting, and we won't. We won't because I'm here. We won't because you're here, and we won't because this glass is here."

The sun was setting over the mountains, the dwindling embers of sunlight were still shining and casting themselves over Romana. She was as strong as ever, thought The Doctor. As strong, as driven, and as beautiful as he had ever seen.

"What happened to them?" she asked, changing the subject, suddenly. "You friends, I mean."

The Doctor paused, thinking about how he should answer. "Drax ran away, like I did."

He told Romana the truth regarding Drax, if only to make the following lies more plausible.

"Rallon and Millenia are off exploring the cosmos, trying to document new things and report back every few centuries. They do love a good adventure."

Romana smiled. "Sounds like us." The Doctor returned her smile, but it was hollow.

"Yes," he said. "They do. The rest are out an about, nothing too noteworthy." A silence fell over the room.

"And Koschei..? What about him?" The Doctor, this time, did not answer. He wasn't sure he knew how. Before he could spout yet another lie, the Castellan came rushing through the door into the observation deck.

"Lady President!" He exclaimed. "You must come quickly!" Romana's posture immediately straightened.

"What is it, Castellan?" He stood tall and proud, composing himself.

"It's the Sontarans, Lady President! Their entire battle fleet! They're entering the Gyrako system!"

The Castellan showed Romana a data pad he was carrying. Across the small screen, various diagrams portraying the fleet's position.

"Those idiots! That is one of our most delicate campaigns! Castellan. Escort me to the war room. We have to deal with this now."

The Castellan bowed at Romana's words, moving towards the door. Romana followed, turning to the Doctor.

"Well? Come on then!" The Doctor immediately followed, worried about what was coming. It was only natural, at this point.


	7. Chapter 7 - Master: Moving with The Beat

The Capitol of Braxas was a story told across the galaxy. It was a metropolis, where planetary matters were settled on a daily basis. It was a city of art, a city of culture, and a city of opportunity; one of thousands dotting the cosmos. Braxas' Capitol was a story told across the universe, and that story was a story of death. Like so many others, it was host to one of thousands of Dalek skirmishes. This fight was particularly brutal, for it was not simply a massacre. The Daleks did not storm in, killing all in sight. Instead, they were met with something entirely new.

The Daleks had fought the Cybermen before, the latter never giving much resistance. They were as all others were; fuel for the Dalek war machine. Yet these Cybermen were different. Rumors of powers yet unseen floated on the air, abilities that the Cybermen were never capable of beforehand.

Entire buildings fell under the weight of their battles, skyscrapers toppling, as if scraps of paper in the harsh, uncaring wind. Underneath them, transports, parks, and citizens were crushed. A thick red cloud sat wrapped around the city, blotting out the sun. Those who were still alive hid in the ruins. It didn't help.

The Daleks found them wherever they hid, exterminating them with a terrifying efficiency. That same efficiency could be attributed to the Cybermen as they harvested the citizens, adding them to their cold army. They would take people, they would drag them away, and they would never be seen again.

Gab, a student at the Capitol University, was never one to stand idly by during a crisis. His parents had always stressed preparation in all things, and that had carried over into this scenario. He was a man of two worlds, a man of arithmetic and a man of art. It was the inherent patterns he found in both that he found fascinating.

The fact that the same idea across many mediums could create such beauty struck a chord in him. It was his eye for patterns that had kept him alive through all of this. He watched the Daleks and the Cybermen, scribbling out their patrol routes, waiting, watching, and recording. He planned meticulously, planning, and accounting for every possible variable in his little notebook.

However, something was bothering Gab. He could not quite place what it was. It was some new variable that was present, though he could not fully perceive it. He did not know it, but there was a new lamppost in the downtown square. Whenever his eyes fell on it, he felt as if it was always there; as if it had always belonged.

He was wrong of course, the lamppost had never been there before. He never paid it any mind, too busy with trying to keep himself alive. The Chameleon Circuit did its job, hiding the lamppost in plain sight. Inside, a lone Time Lord stood, scanning the cityscape. He was sent here on a covert mission, an instrument of destruction sent out on a simple scouting mission. Something was amiss, this much he knew.

He was a man of strong stature, resembling a human male in his mid-fourties. His head was smooth, completely bald. Tight ears hug the sides of his head. His eyes were full of anger and a tired desperation, sagging skin framing them. A long nose flanked by prominent cheek bones sat above tight lips. He kept a short beard, falling back on older habits. The Master always loved a good beard.

Strong fingers moved over his TARDIS console, making sure to keep his ship hidden in the midst of the combat. The center pillar wheezed expectantly, a soft green glow filling the room. He moved to a circular probe that was plugged into the console. He grabbed it, disconnecting it and tossed it into the air. It whirred to life, its small red eye lighting up.

"Greetings, Master!" The small probe chirped. "Orders?"

The Probe's voice was rather high and had a sing-song quality to it. It grated on The Master's ears.

"There's something odd that does not explicitly match Cyberman or Dalek signature to the southwest. You're going to accompany me there and take readings. It's something… different. Something I've never seen before. I intend to find out what it is."

There was a quality of childish joy to The Master's voice that the probe was not programmed to pick up. Despite this, The Master's voice was still cold, and carefully annunciated. He was as an actor on stage, the protagonist of his own personal tragedy.

The Master clapped once, the doors of his TARDIS obeying him. The harsh winds bent around the raised shield around his craft. From a coat rack next to the console, he grabbed a long velvet coat. It was black, matching his trousers and tie. He threw it over his shoulders, connecting the buckles across the chest. He secured his gloves and boots, the whine of leather ringing out, an indication of his success. He turned back to the console, reaching for a small rectangular device. He turned it on, the device softly humming. He placed it in his pocket.

"Old habits…" he muttered to himself.

"Stealth field." He said in a commanding tone.

A small emitter popped up from the top of the probe, starting to spin. It spun faster and faster, starting to give off subtle pulsations of energy in a two meter radius around it. The Master stepped inside, becoming hidden from both sensors and the visible spectrum. As he moved towards the door, he reached for a charcoal-colored scarf. He wrapped it around his neck, pulling it over his face, and exited the TARDIS.

"Scan begin." he said, moving through the wreckage.

He stepped carefully, navigating the torn streets and toppled buildings. Bodies were strewn about, piled up after being killed or harvested. Blood pooled in the streets, and the air was thick with the stench of rot. The Master was no stranger to this. Among the dead humans, Cyberman carcasses and destroyed Dalek casings sat; some burning, some melted, and some torn apart from the inside.

The Master's footfalls created ripples in the pools; bloody footprints followed in his wake. He stopped cold, the distinct sound of screams carrying on the wind catching his ears. Immediately after, his probe began beeping.

"Abnormal temporal readings detected, abnormal temporal readings detected!"

This gave The Master pause. Temporal readings? In a fight between the Cybermen and the Daleks? There must have been some other force present. The Cybermen had no access to such technology, and The Master would not have missed a Dalek Time Ship if it was present. This was something new.

"Temporal?" He hissed. "Show me! Show me now!"

The probe began floating towards the signature, The Master giving chase. Upon reaching the source, the two of them were faced with a downed hoverbus, with three humans trapped inside. The door had been fortified to keep all intruders out, but a lone Cyberman seemed intent on breaking through. It pounded on the door without relent.

The Master drew as close as he dared, moving next to the bus to get a closer look.

"Curious…" He whispered.

The Cyberman seemed to be at the peak of its development, the prominent shoulder pads, internal workings centered on the chest, and distinct head shape devoid of the large flashlight-like device. It was with those observations, any familiarity with what this Cyberman in front of him was, ended.

There was something else about it, something that was different from any Cyberman The Master had ever seen before. He squinted, trying to make it out. The Cyberman was covered in what appeared to be static, as if being viewed through a broken video monitor. It seemed as if it was there, yet it seemed as if it was not. The color was also wrong. The regular silver color was tinged purple. It was a collection of subtle things all adding to one large oddity.

The humans, who appeared to be some sort of family, were completely unremarkable. The only thing of note about them was the fact that they were somehow alive after all this time. The Cyberman continued to pound on the door, the barrier somehow holding. It was then, the Cyberman spoke. Its voice was unlike any that The Master had ever heard, sounding like a poorly tuned radio.

"Inside. Your. Head."

What happened next surprised even The Master, as the Cyberman began fading from view, dematerializing before his eyes.

"Curiouser and curiouser…" The Master remarked to himself.

Before he could take any further action, his probe began beeping again.

"Temporal energy spike! Temporal energy spike!" The Cyberman quite suddenly rematerialized inside the bus, cornering the humans.

"History. Weeping."

One of the men, the father, ran at the Cyberman, a show of pointless bravado. As he uselessly lashed out at it, the Cyberman slapped him aside, snapping his neck instantly. At the sight of the crumpled body, the mother wrapped her arms around her son. The Cyberman took great strides forward, the screaming of the humans ringing out. From the outside of the bus, all The Master saw was the splash of blood and brain matter against the interior window.

"What does it mean..?" No sooner had The Master spoke, the Cyberman dematerialized leaving the broken bodies behind.

Everything fell quiet when it disappeared, as if all sound had been stolen away. When it vanished, something began to well up from within The Master. Hairs on the back of his neck stood up right. Another sound began ringing through the air, akin to metal dragging slowly across more metal. It was the sound of a Dalek flying through the air.

The damned thing had obviously been brought over by the abnormal energy signature, and landed immediately in front of him. He froze, not daring to move. Dozens of possible situations ran through his mind. There were seven out of all of them where he could escape with his life, two of which where he would not be grievously wounded, and one out of those two where he would make it back to his TARDIS.

Even that plan had to many variables, and this Dalek was already too close. It rolled towards him, unaware of his presence. Its eyestalk craned about, scanning the area. Could he risk blasting the Dalek? The discharge may draw more Daleks to him. They were slithering about in the woodwork, just below the surface.

"RECENTLY EXTERMINATED HUMAN SIGNATURES DETECTED." The Dalek bellowed, The Master wincing.

Beads of sweat began to run down his face as he stood still, having no desire to leave the stealth field.

"TEMPORAL DISCHARGE DETECTED." The Dalek screamed. So, The Master thought, it could sense it too.

The Dalek inched closer and closer, The Master not moving. The subtle displacements in the air due to his very standing there would be enough to alert it if he wasn't careful. He cursed himself for not reaching for a weapon sooner.

It was inches from his face now, close enough that he could stare directly into its eyestalk. He could see the harsh blue glow emanating from its eye shift and twist, as if trying to focus on him. His hand trembled slightly, taking all he had to reach for something.

Quite suddenly, the Dalek's eye went dark.

"EMERGENCY. EMERGENCY. I CANNOT SEE!"

From the inside of the casing, there was a great and terrible gurgling sound, the Dalek inside obviously in distress. Its casing was being dented outwards with great metal bang, something trying to punch its way out. The Dalek let out one final scream of agony that seemed to shake the ground before the hand of a Cyberman, still covered in the blood of the human, burst out of the casing and grabbed The Master by the throat.

The Cyberman burst out of the Dalek, its static aura still evident. It lifted The Master into the air.

"Unhand me, damn yo- ARGH!" The Master was cut short by a violent electric shock erupting from the Cyberman's fingertips, still wrapped around his throat.

It kept him suspended off the ground, staring deep into his eyes. Their eyes were not dissimilar, both cold and dead – but there was no understanding between these two, no covenant to honor. There was only life or death. Its cold fingers voraciously closed around his throat, threatening to snap his neck.

"Taking. Time. Apart."

The Master's vision began to blur, nothing but the sound of drums remaining.


	8. Chapter 8 - The Time Lord Stratagem

The Castellan had lead The Doctor and Romana back to the war room. A small table of generals met with them, and a plan to negotiate with the Sontarans was proposed. The Doctor's opinion on the matter was that engaging in open conflict with the Sontarans would be a waste of time, resources, and possibly lives. Romana and the rest were incredulous, but eventually seemed to concede. The plan to negotiate had been The Doctor's, so he was assigned leadership of the operation. Romana, intent on preserving her worth as Lady President, was keen on coming along. She commissioned three battle TARDISes to come along with them, as a last resort if things were to go awry.

"How long has it been since we've ridden together?" The Doctor asked, as the two of them walked towards the hangar, flanked by the three crewmen coming along with them.

"Not since... hm..." Romana furrowed her brow.

Remembering travels with The Doctor in terms of straightforward progression was difficult enough, further exasperated by the dozens upon dozens of paradoxes ravaging time due to the war.

"Not since... the anti-time incident." she finally replied.

The Doctor offered her no response outside of a small grunt. Even by the standards of the Time War, the "anti-time incident" as Romana put it was not something he ever wanted to think about.

As they all approached the TARDISes, The Doctor stepped in front of the group. He turned to them and stood at attention. He folded his arms behind his back, beginning to speak.

"Men, Lady President," he started, his tone official and back straight; a stance his dear friend the Brigadier had taken so many times before when addressing his soldiers.

The Doctor lost himself in the memory as he spoke, mirroring the Brigadier's movements as they played out in his head.

"You honor me with your presence here. All of you. Today, we march forward on a mission of great importance. The Sontarans represent a dire threat. They've invaded us before, and if we allow them entry into this war, they will bathe the starways in blood of innocent and evil alike. Now, you lot, tell me, what regiment are you with?"

A soldier standing in the back, rather small in comparison to the rest, spoke up. "The 10th timeborne division, Sir!"

The Doctor regarded the smaller solider, walking up to him and peering downwards. "A strong voice from such a small stature! What is your name, son?"

Romana watched, an amused smirk slowly crawling across over her face. She had seen The Doctor take positions of command before, but had never truly gotten used to it. The Doctor himself imagined himself during his fourth life, watching his friend command his soldiers and thinking how silly it all was. He was thankful he was able to learn so much from the man, and use it all now.

"Private Mason, Sir!"

The Doctor appraised Mason, looking him over. Too often, The Doctor was the small man, trying his best in situations bigger than him. He had learned to appreciate this quality in others when he saw it.

"Good to know you, Private Mason. You understand all I've said, yes? That this is a mission of peace?"

Mason nodded again. "Yes sir!"

The Doctor stepped back, regarding the rest of the soldiers again. "We are not to fire on them. We talk them down, then we leave quickly. We cannot afford to burn any more resources than we already are. Can I trust all of you to follow my orders?"

The soldiers all stood at attention, saluting in unison. "Yes sir!"

The Doctor nodded. "GOOD! Now! Get to your TARDISes! The co-ordinates will be transferred to you. See you on the other side, gentlemen!" The Doctor bellowed, the soldiers running off to their ships, vanishing soon after. Romana and The Doctor made their way over to their familiar blue box.

"You seem to have fit into this role rather well." Romana remarked.

The Doctor opened the door, swinging it open and finding comfort in the endearing creak it let out.

"As well as I've had to, Romana." The Doctor replied, his voice tired.

He didn't like what he had become, but this was what he needed to do, personal feelings be damned.

"After you." he said.

Romana entered the TARDIS, The DOCTOR about to follow.

"What happens if they don't relent?"

The Doctor turned around, seeing Private Mason still standing there; he hadn't seen him stay behind until now.

"Stars, I didn't see you there."

"Nothing I'm not used to." Mason said. "Sir."

"If they don't relent, Private, well... The Sontarans only ever understand force."

Mason stood there, his hands bunched up into fists at his sides. He nodded silently. The Doctor looked him over, seeing the hesitation that could possibly paralyze him; he couldn't have any of his men failing.

"Stick with me." The Doctor said. "Stay close, keep your ears to the comms, and you'll be fine."

He put his hand on Mason's shoulder, squeezing it. Mason winced. The Doctor turned back to the TARDIS, stopping at the doorway as Mason spoke up one last time.

"I've never had to kill anyone before."

The Doctor didn't turn around. He grasped the doorway to the TARDIS tightly before entering and closing the door behind him.

The Doctor nodded to Romana and walked past her to the console. He started flipping various switches, attending to his bells and whistles. Romana looked around, the TARDIS not having changed much since she last saw it. It was still very gothic in nature, with ornate, wooden paneling running along the floor to the console. Innumerable clocks dotted the walls, all measuring various time zones across the universe and ticking like mad.

Dressers filled with all sorts of random items and trinkets picked up from years of traveling, messy shelves and desks, table and chairs; this was a home. This was still a home, and Romana loved it. The ceiling served as a giant view screen. and she watched as the hangar faded away, replaced by the billowing time vortex.

The Doctor turned to her and leaned on the console, resting his hands on the edges. He looked up, watching the smoky swirls wreathed in lightning as they flew. The wheezing and grinding of the central column was the only sound between the two of them. As the vortex swirled around their impossible little box, the two of them locked eyes.

There was something they both felt. Something the two of them understood completely, while at the same time being unable to fathom. Whatever it was kept them from speaking. Was there nothing to say? The two of them knew this was not the case. Perhaps whatever needed to be said eluded them because they did not know how to say it. It was something always at the back of their minds, while simultaneously on the tip of their tongues; and they didn't even know what it was. Perhaps they didn't need to know. Perhaps they always knew.


	9. Chapter 9 - The Empty Sky

The Doctor and Romana came out of the Time Vortex, the three battle TARDISes following. Before them was an immense fleet. Thousands of Sontaran warships, stretching on as far as the eye could see. The ships were ready for a fight, the TARDIS sensors picking up that their weapons were ready to fire at a moment's notice. The Doctor flipped a switch on the console, opening up a communication channel to the others.

"Mason, come up on my starboard. The rest of you, to port. Line up in a straight line. That's it…"

The TARDISes lined up with The Doctor, floating side-by-side. The monitor hanging from the top of the central console began blinking repeatedly, the words "INCOMING TRANSMISSION" appearing in big block letters. The Doctor pulled the screen down and turned a dial on the side, focusing the picture. Through the static haze, the face of a rather cross Sontaran appeared on the screen.

"And who do I have the honor of addressing this fine… er…" The Doctor looked over at the clocks spread across the wall of the TARDIS. "Evening. Right. This fine eveni-"

The Doctor was cut off by the Sontaran before he could finish, a deep, booming voice blaring out of the screen.

"You do not recognize the greatest Sontaran war leader OF ALL TIME? Puny, impudent TIME LORD! I am GRAND MARSHALL STRAAD! Great Commander of the almighty SONTARAN BATTLE FLEET!"

Bits of spittle flying out of Straad's mouth flecked across the screen on his side, Straad wiping them away angrily. The Doctor crossed his arms, looking over at Romana. She simply nodded. Motioning for him to continue.

"Well…" The Doctor cleared his throat, "Consider me regaled, Grand Marshall Straad, Great Commander of the almighty Sontaran Battle Fleet. I-"

Straad once again spoke up, interrupting The Doctor. "We care NOT! The Great Sontaran Empire desire entry into your WAR WITH THE DALEKS! The greatest war that HAS EVER BEEN! We will not be KEPT FROM IT! We desire THIS! We shall TAKE IT! We will BURN THE DALEKS ACROSS TIME! We will burn ALL WHO OPPOSE US! Sontar-HA! Sontar-HA! Sontar-HA!"

The raising of voices across Straad's ship was evident. His crew was cheering with him, losing themselves in their joyous chorus.

The Doctor considered his options. The Sontaran race was a race built on war. It was fundamental to their very existence. They would snuff out the stars themselves if it meant they could have a good fight, and the resulting chaos was not something that Gallifrey could afford to deal with. Whenever Sontarans had tried to get into the war before, they were always in smaller teams, more than manageable by even a single TARDIS crew. This was a different matter entirely. This was on a scale that had not yet been seen. Romana stepped up to the screen, The Doctor standing aside.

"Grand Marshall Straad!" Romana started, the Sontarans still chanting. "I am Romanadvoretrelundar. Lady President of Gallifrey. I implore you to see reason. I implore you to work with us to reach an accord."

The Doctor stepped forward in protest, but was stopped by Romana raising her hand.

"There will be NO ACCORD! We will DESTROY THE DALEKS! And we will DESTROY YOU! At the same TIME IF WE MUST! Then we will be the most POWERFUL RACE IN THE GALAXY!" Straad's words renewed the cheering of his men.

"Don't do this." The Doctor said behind grit teeth.

"Puny Time Lord… It is ALREADY DONE!" Straad immediately closed the channel.

Multiple alerts rang out through the TARDIS. "They're preparing to fire!"

On instinct, The Doctor bounded towards the console, his fingers flying over the controls. "Prepare to dematerialize!"

The Doctor's hand met the dematerialization lever and was ready to pull it down before Romana's hand fell over his, gripping it stopping him from pulling it. His arm jerked in reaction to the sudden contact, but he did not move. His hand tightened around the lever, his knuckles whitening.

"Belay that!" Romana's grip softened slightly. "Let me save us, this time."

She stepped in front of him, speaking into the comms. "Mason. Worchet. Percy. Blot out the stars."

There was a moment of hesitation before the comms finally ringed in reply. "Yes Lady President."

The three TARDISes around the Doctor and Romana vanished, seemingly leaving them alone.

"Blot out the stars?" The Doctor asked. Romana turned the dial on the side of the monitor, projecting a view of the entire Sontaran fleet on the ceiling. At the southernmost point, The Doctor's TARDIS was seen.

"Look at the edges" said Romana. One TARDIS appeared behind the fleet, with the two others appearing t the left and to the right of the fleet, creating a square of TARDISes around it.

"Deploying Temporal Tether! Be ready to latch on!" Romana's hands were a blur, moving at a pace even faster than The Doctor usually did.

"Romana, what are you doing?" The Doctor asked, obviously concerned.

"We're sending them far away." Before The Doctor could enquire deeper into her words, the other TARDIS operators spoke up.

"Ready, Lady President!" Romana nodded, hesitating before she spoke.

This was a hesitation that The Doctor knew all too well, something he had experience so many other times before. It was the hesitation that marked the precious few seconds before a moral compromise.

"Romana…?" He asked, his voice faltering, trying to take on some of the weight she was putting on to her shoulders. Romana spoke up.

"Do it." All of the TARDIS operators, Romana included, turned a dial on their consoles. Each TARDIS shot out two beams of blue light towards the two TARDISes parallel to them. The beams bounded through space towards each other, eventually colliding and creating a giant luminous square around the fleet.

"Begin circling them!" Romana's arm flew to a lever, pulling it down all the way. The four TARDISes moved in sync, spinning in a perfect circle around the fleet at dizzying speeds.

As they spun faster and faster, the beams of light shone so brightly that it was blinding. The light began to coalesce, creating a large bubble around the Sontaran ships. The Doctor watched the view screen, the Sontaran ships trying to steer out of the bubble. It was a useless endeavor, the ships were completely trapped. The Sontarans realized this as well, and began firing wildly at the beams, unable to hit the speeding TARDISes. The Sontarans began to fade from view before the Doctor's eyes, the bubble closing around them.

"Where are you sending them?!" The Doctor demanded.

"Far away. Far enough that it will take years before they find their way back. And when they do, if they're smart, they will never cross us again."

Romana's words were drowned out as space was ripped open for the briefest of instants, the Sontaran ships flooding into the Vortex. In that instant, it was as if they were never there. The space in front of them was empty.

"Close it!" Romana exclaimed, hitting the brakes and slowing the TARDIS down. The beams faded as all the TARDISes stopped moving.

Soon after, all was still and The Doctor stared at Romana in what seemed to be a mix of anger and confusion. She ignored his looks for the time being, addressing the others.

"Thank you, all of you. You are instrumental in this engagement and are now dismissed. I expect reports from all of you."

She turned back to The Doctor. "Oh no, I know that look." She extended a finger towards him, waving it vigorously.

"I won't have you preaching to me, today of all days."

The Doctor's nostrils flared as he considered his next words. They had won, had they not? A hostile fleet was coming down on them and they had beaten them back without any sort of bloodshed. Yet the question of where the Sontaran's had been sent ate away at his mind. Were they sent somewhere where they could do no harm? Or had Romana unwittingly doomed some poor race to some new war? Or even extinction?

The Doctor was torn in all directions, but for the moment, and this he could not argue, the day was saved. That was all he could hope for. He sighed deeply.

"Good job, Romana." He simply said, a small smile appearing on his face.

This smile was not an outright lie, because he was indeed impressed with what she had just done. Yet he was not especially proud of her either. Like so many times before this, The Doctor compromised.


	10. Chapter 10 - Mondas: A New Paradigm

High above, sitting in the Mondasian sky, Dalek saucers hovered. The primitive cyber cannons bounced harmlessly off their shields. Mondas was burning under the Dalek onslaught. It was fast becoming twisted and marred; a shadow of a shadow of what it once was. Cybermen fell in droves, their deaths being felt across time, ripples in an ever-weakening web. They were losing, and they could do nothing to stop it. Within their ships, the Daleks continued to plot.

"THE PRIMITIVE CYBERMEN ARE PROVING INEFFECTUAL AGAINST DALEK FORCES." rang the metallic voice of a chrome Dalek situated at a view screen.

It watched the massacre unfold. "AS THEY ALWAYS HAVE." bellowed a black Dalek sitting in the centre of the room, the black Dalek watched, calculated, and waited for their inevitable triumph.

Opening a channel, the black Dalek spoke again. "DO NOT RELENT. FULL CYBERMEN EXTERMINATION!"

The comms rang out with a collective "WE OBEY!"

As it turned back to the view screen, the Black Dalek noticed some sort of interference, causing their screen to be filled with static. The screen was soon completely blocked off by the static, with occasional flashes of purple breaking through. Whatever this was, it tripped every sensor the Daleks had, alarms blaring all throughout the ship.

"VIEWSCREEN MALFUNCTION, WE CANNOT SEE." a chrome Dalek screamed.

"WHAT IS HAPPENING?! EXPLAIN! EXPLAIN!" The black Dalek exclaimed. "TEMPORAL DISCHARGE DETECTED."

The sensors indicated that there was a tear in space and time closer to the surface of the planet. Something was trying to get through.

"TIME LORD INTERFERENCE?" questioned the black Dalek.

"NEGATIVE." said the chrome Dalek. "THIS IS SOMETHING NEW."

The sensors pointed to a Mondasian cliff side facility being blasted apart from the inside. The wretched sound of high-powered energy weapons tore through the air, followed by the pathetic cries of the primitive Cybermen.

"Push them back! Do not relent! Do not rele- AUUUUGHHHH!" One of the gas lines within the facility had been ruptured, causing an explosion. The force of it sent the Cyberman flying towards the window. It collided with the glass, breaking through and landing in the snow. Its audio sensors took the time to reconfigure, a high pitched whirring replacing all other sounds. The Cyberman looked down to see that its legs had been blown clean off, black, oil-like fluid seeping from its torso.

Smoke billowed from the destroyed facility, the doors being shot open. From the haze, a Dalek came. It was slightly larger than the rest, a faded white instead of the usual chrome coloring. Instead of a manipulator arm and a blaster, this special Dalek was armed with only a large cannon. The orbs adorning its sides were a dull gold, with its head being devoid of the familiar eyestalk. Through a black, soulless visor, the Special Weapons Dalek took aim.

The Cyberman crawled uselessly away, leaving a slick, black trail in its wake. It inched closer and closer to the edge of the cliff, the Dalek following.

"GaCK! KAH... Arguhh..." the Cyberman choked out as it crawled, the fluid beginning to flow up and out of its mouth and dripping down its rubber-like skin.

"CRAWL!" bellowed the Special Weapons Dalek.

What else could the Cyberman do but obey? As the Cyberman finally reached the edge of the cliff, it looked down at the rest of Mondas. The Daleks were enacting a full-scale genocide, scorching the earth with pulsating beams of energy. They were destroying what little of Mondas there was left. Something welled up deep within the Cyberman. Anger, punctuated by the sting of uselessness. It raised its hand over its face as the Dalek began to charge its cannon.

"Forward!" the high-pitched wail of another Cyberman rang out, prompting the Dalek to turn around. Before it could take any action, the sound of metal slamming into metal cut it off. Throwing all of its considerable weight against the Dalek, the Cybermen managed to push it away. It kept holding on, grappling the Dalek.

"UNHAND ME, YOU WILL BE EXTERMINA-" another Cyberman came rushing forward, bending down and slamming into the base of the Dalek, pushing it back even further.

As a third Cyberman came bounding towards the Dalek, it panicked, firing off its cannon. The shot blew the entire shoulder clean off the Cyberman, yet on it charged, resolute with the fact that it was going to die. The others shared this sentiment fully as the final push was all they needed to send both themselves and the Special Weapons Dalek off the cliff.

The lone Cyberman lay on the ground, continually oozing the oil-like fluid. Dalek Saucers flew overhead, the lights projecting down on the ground that they flew over. It could no longer feel the wind on its skin, nor the heat of the flames as everything it new burned around it.

As its visual and audio sensors began to fail, so too did the rest of its bodily functions. Coolant began flooding into its chest cavity, flooding the primitive emotional inhibitor it was equipped with.

"Please... it.. hurts.." it choked out. The last thing it was able to perceive was what appeared to be a small tear in the sky directly above it. What appeared to be another Cyberman, except entirely more advanced, fell through the sky and landed in front of it.

The new Cyberman, tinged purple and exuding some sort of static, snapped to life and placed its hands on the floor. Its fingers curled, digging up the earth and snow. Its head slowly raised, inching from side to side.

"Mondas." it said, its leg coming forward to push itself up. "Mondas." it said again, lumbering towards the dying Cyberman.

"Among the dead... at the end of days." The static Cyberman reached its hand out towards its dying brother.

A cloud of static seeped out of its fingers, enveloping the other. The dying Cyberman let out a scream as its body twisted and bent under this new power. It was being transformed into a form resembling this new Cyberman. It was being upgraded. Legs, seemingly from nowhere, appeared. The rubber-like skin was replaced with cold, purple steel. The once fallen Cyberman, a reflection of its savior, stood up.

"Time's a maze." it said. "Death to the Daleks." the second Cyberman replied.

"Death to the Daleks!" One of the Cybermen faded from view, seeming to dematerialize, intent on spreading its new upgrade. The other simply looked up, staring right at the Dalek ship.

Aboard the ship, the Supreme Dalek could feel the gaze of the Cyberman, even with all that space between them.

"THIS WILL NOT STAND! KILL THEM! EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!"

The Daleks fired their weapons, bombarding the cliff side. As the ground was torn up around the Cyberman, it vanished.

"FIND THEM!" The upgrade process was fast; fast enough that the Supreme Dalek was growing worried. This was going to spread faster than they could stop it.

"EMERGENCY, OUR SHIELDS HAVE BEEN BREACHED!" The black Dalek could feel the displacements in time and space manifesting behind it.

It whipped around the face its enemy, its manipulator and cannon suddenly being grabbed tightly by one of the new Cybermen. The black Dalek screamed, firing its cannon wildly. It could feel the Cyberman's grip tighten around it, the metal starting to bend.

"EMERGENCY TELEPORT! EMERGENCY TE- AAAAUUUGHH!" The black Dalek screamed at the Cyberman tore its manipulator and cannon out of its casing.

Before any more damage could be done, the black Dalek teleported away, with Cybermen starting to pour in. They spread like the infection they were, overrunning and eventually capturing the ship, killing every Dalek they could find.

They had sustained heavy losses through this victory, even with their newfound power. Their planet had been virtually destroyed. This new strain of Cyberman prepared to unleash itself across the universe, upgrading across time, and eventually destroying the Daleks. This was their first victory.


	11. Chapter 11 - Out With The Old

Re-materializing on Gallifrey, The Doctor and Romana found themselves weary. Stepping down from the console, The Doctor moved to the lounge area. Fetching a vinyl record marked "Pat Hodge: In a Dream", he placed it on the record player and set the needle down. Music began to echo down the empty corridors of the TARDIS. The Doctor closed his eyes and swayed gently. Romana moved to join him near the record player, shaking her head.

"I never understood your fixation with Earth music." Romana said, smiling.

"Probably has something to do with the many years I spent there. But that's just a hunch." He replied.

Romana found herself tapping her foot.

"Can I offer you a cup of tea? A Jelly Baby? Five?" Romana stuck out her tongue slightly.

"Gods, no. Those, I never liked."

She stayed for a moment longer, before turning and walking towards the door.

"You'll be around, then?" She asked The Doctor. He replied, with a pang of disappointment.

"As long as I'm needed, yes."

Romana gave a faint smile before leaving, the door shutting behind her.

The Doctor sighed, running his hand through his hair. He looked around his TARDIS, music still filling it. His gaze fell over his desk, but he found it toppled over. It must have fallen at some point during the business with the Sontarans. He would have noticed before, he thought. He always noticed.

The desk's drawers had fallen open, spilling all the contents on to the floor. All of the little tools he had stored there over the years were uselessly strewn about, accompanied by various scraps of paper and notebooks. They had all collected his musings over the long years he traveled.

Though he saw the mess in front of him, he seemed almost unable to register it; unable to focus on a single bit of paper or tool. All he saw was a mess to be cleaned up.

"Bloody Edwardian sensibilities..." he muttered, moving over the console.

Without looking back, he turned a small dial. The mess on the floor was quickly sorted out; the papers were quickly digitized, the tools were stored away in some far away cupboard, and the desk was stored away in the furniture directory. The Doctor turned, looking at the empty space where the desk used to be.

"There. Much better."

He scratched his chin, surveying the rest of the TARDIS. To these old eyes of his, so much that seemed to bring him joy before only stuck out as clutter, now.

"Give it time..." he said to himself.

As a distraction, The Doctor returned his thoughts to the Sontarans. Something about the whole ordeal ate away at him. He accessed his scanners and began to survey the area where the Sontarans had been ripped away from. Staring at the once full bit of space, he felt a sense of impending dread. He pulled at his scarf, sighing.

He would have sat there for hours if it had not been for a message sent directly to his TARDIS alerting him. Bringing down the screen with a sigh, he answered.

"Yes. Hello?"

From the viewscreen, The Doctor saw a familiar workshop. Before he could say anything further, a man was thrown in front of the screen.

"AAAAHHHH!"

He landed with a great thud. The man pulled himself up, facing the screen. There was a manic look in his eyes, accompanied by a mad smile. His face was framed by short, curly hair and a matching brown beard.

"Yes! Hello, my friend! Would you care to come down and aid me in this most.. dire situation? Seems I've miscalculated the size of the miscalculation I made.. earlier. Yes. Oi! Get down from there! DOWN! I said DOWN, DAMN YOU!"

The Doctor shook his head. What could The Corsair be up to now?

"I'll.. right, I'll be right down."

The Corsair didn't answer, instead running off-screen, followed by the sound of breaking glass.

"Right..." The Doctor sighed, setting the scan to continually run. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he exited the TARDIS and headed for his friend's workshop.


	12. Chapter 12 - Aesthetic

The Corsair's workshop was rather a pain to get it at the best of times. It was in a side room near the bottom of the Citadel, the elevator ride being excruciatingly long. From the elevator, one went to a corridor. The corridor branched off to seven paths, the right path being either the fifth of third path depending on whether or not the date was an even number. Today it was the fifth path. From the fifth path, there was a custodial closet. From the closet there were a set of stairs leading downwards to a hatch. It was that hatch that finally opened up to the workshop.

Opening the hatch, The Doctor popped his head into the workshop, looking around. The place was a grotesque mix of Da Vinci's workshop and the lair of a mad scientist. Crude exo-skeleton units hung from the ceiling, which itself was a mess of twisting cogs and pumping pistons. Seemingly useless jets of steam went off in all directions. All along the walls and floors were dozens of diagrams, all detailing impossible machines and odd, unknowable sciences. This was an enormously ugly workshop, thought The Doctor.

Perhaps the most important detail present was the smoking robot carcass lying in a pile in front of him, a giant pipe protruding from its back. It was tinged green, with a flat head and great big bolts coming out of its neck.

"Corsair!" The Doctor called out wearily, not at all surprised with what lay before him.

He had walked in on stranger things created by his friend. The Doctor entered the lab fully, stepping around the fallen robot. The smell of sulfur and crude oil assaulted his nostrils, causing his face to scrunch up.

"Corsair!" he called again. From across the lab, a desk shuddered violently. Out from underneath it popped up the head of The Corsair, his arm joining shortly after to run the spot on his head where he slammed it.

"Ah! Hello, my friend! What... What are you doing here? Wait!" The Corsair popped out from behind the desk, dashing over to The Doctor. "Let me guess... You're here because.. I called you! Whatever for, though? Hm.."

The Corsair began pacing, the act itself becoming an elaborate dance as he avoided the various diagrams etched into the floor. He was wearing a white dress shirt, torn and stained with substances The Doctor could not immediately place. On top was an equally fettered waistcoat with all but one button missing. On top of all that, he wore a large, white apron that draped down to his knees, which were covered in standard black trousers and knee-high boots.

"You were being.. thrown around by something." The Doctor motioned to the smoking heap behind him. "I'm assuming that." The Corsair leaned off to the side, looking at the wreckage.

"Yes, yes." He said. "That." The Corsair scurried over to the robot. "That's where my giant pipe went. Thank you."

The Corsair placed a foot on the torso of the robot, planting himself firmly in the center. He grasped the pipe with both hands and began pulling. After a moment, and a large amount of effort, the pipe broke free.

"Now, back to business. Come, come. I am working on a revolutionary new species!" The Corsair let the pipe rest on his shoulder, and began whistling a jaunty tune.

"Was that it, then? You just needed me to remind you where some bit of piping was?" The Doctor sighed. "I am quite busy."

The Corsair didn't answer, surveying his notes on the walls with a wonder so evidently genuine, one would think he was seeing this all for the first time.

"Corsair!" The Doctor exclaimed. "You seem to have everything under control, obviously you didn't need my help with the robot, so..." at that, The Corsair turned.

"That? No. I just thought to call you while dealing with it. Save us all... what's the word? Time! Yes. Shelley over there was just for fun. Read a movie. Watched a book. It was all a blur. I lived. I died. I lived again. No matter."

"I'll just take my leave, then." The Doctor sighed. "Some of us have to get back to reality."

The Corsair ran over to the wall, tearing down some of the diagrams of "Shelley" down off the wall. Underneath was a chalkboard, inane Gallifreyan scrawl filling it. He erased it all with his hand, fetched a piece of chalk from his waistcoat, and began writing.

"Ree..Al..Eh..Tee." he wrote as he spoke, underlining the word repeatedly. "Back to the big bad.. no wait, don't tell me.. Big wolf? No. Double U word... War! War." The Doctor crossed his arms.

"Some of us have obligations."

The Corsair scoffed, continuing to tear down diagrams and write. "To who? Whom? These always cause me such strife.." The Corsair erased "Reality", opting to write "Who" and "Whom" over and over.

"To reality!" The Doctor said.

A moment of silence.

"Also, it's "whom" in this case."

"You're speaki- Thank you." The Corsair started erasing all the "Who"s he had written down. "You're speaking in squares, my friend."

The Corsair hesitated, as if not entirely understanding what he had just said. He kept speaking, regardless. "Am I not real? No, wait. Maybe. Maybe I'm not. No. Yes. Wait!" He stopped writing, running back to The Doctor and pointing at him. "You perceive me, that is, myself as real, don't you? And I think I'm real, too. Most of the time." The Doctor furrowed his brow.

"Besides, you can't go soldiering about with an empty ammo belt. Now come, I've something wondrous to show you."

The Doctor didn't have it in him to argue. The Corsair dragged him along by the sleeve, leading the Doctor down a set of stairs to another part of the lab.

"You know your place is a garish mess, right?" The Doctor asked, resigned to his fate.

"Ah, my friend! It is all about commitment to the aesthetic!"

They reached their destination, a small table with some sort of dead bird creature sitting on top of it. Above it was a large emitter, wires running off it in all directions. They all met at a control panel attached to the table. The Corsair stopped and turned to him.

"Your arm is trembling." The Doctor realized this, and forced his arm to stop shaking.

"Are you nervous? I have something for that. A spray of sorts. No wait. Tension. Pupils. Shoulders. Yes. Hm. Come, come."

The Corsair ran over to the table, motioning The Doctor over. He fetched a pair of cables from under the table.

"Here. Hold these just over the specimen, please. Thank you. Speaking of tension..."

The Corsair ran off, returning quickly with a pair of goggles, pulling them on. With his foot, he hit a switch behind him.

"How is our Lady President?" Electricity crackled along the ceiling, pouring into the emitter.

"Like this? And what do you mean?" The Doctor asked, holding the cables in place.

"Yes, just like... tension, you know, between two.. No wait. Yes, just like that. Two people." The Corsair flipped switches as he spoke.

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about. What are we even doing?"

This entire lab matched the archetype of a mad scientist. Though The Doctor trusted his friend, he could not help but feel uncomfortable. The talk of any sort of tension was not helping matters.

"There is no.. tension." He added.

The Corsair rubbed his hands together, regeneration energy starting to pulsate off them in golden waves. "There is this wonderful potlatch tradition on Earth... you know the one..? Thanks.. Thank you.. give me.. Thanksgiving! Yes, they have this dish.. a combination of three bird species? The Turduckin? Why is it always dead? So we are making a live one today! Right here!"

The Doctor blinked a few times, unable to muster a proper reaction. "And you're using.. regeneration energy on this..?" He finally asked.

"Yes! Like using a high-powered orbital strike on a flea! And Your body language and sudden shift in demeanor tells me everything I need to know. Shush."

The Corsair grasped two of the wires and began pouring energy into wires and began pouring energy into them.

"A lot of you people think me anti-social. No, no, no. I can write warm fusion in my.. gah... hold the wires close.." The Corsair grunted, continuing. "I have.. bent stars to my whim. People? Social constructs? Can you really tell me that gender is a legitimate..well anything? I don't even know how to classify myself anymore! It's all so... boring, my friend."

The wires in The Doctor's hands began filtering through them on to the bird.

It began to twist and write as life was being poured into it. The Doctor hoped it would not have an inclination for world domination. That would be rather inconvenient, and a new galactic power in the form of a Turkey-Duck-Chicken hybrid was not something he was particularly enthused to deal with. The Doctor averted his eyes as the light became too bright.

"When the stuff of life is yours to play with... and... hah!" The bird sprang to life, arching its head at the Doctor and letting out a rather ugly screech.

Startled, The Doctor dropped the cables. The Corsair smiled, a glint in his eye making apparent his pleasure.

"Yes. As I was saying..." The Corsair circled the table over to The Doctor. placing an arm around his shoulder. "With mastery over the science of life, my friend... people. People! People are easy!"

The Doctor cracked a smile at that. The bird jumped up to its feet, inching towards The Doctor. It screeched again, this time The Doctor offering it a smile.

"Hello there, little one." Fascinated with the bird, The Doctor didn't realize The Corsair had let him go, the arm on his shoulder missing. "What are we calling you th-"

The Doctor was cut off by a sudden discharge of energy. He threw himself backwards, the table lighting up yet again. He whipped around, starting at The Corsair who was standing in the corner, a smoking pulse rifle in his arms.

"Could I convince you to stay for dinner?" He asked with a smile.


	13. Chapter 13 - Nowhere: In The Beginning

In this place, at all collective periods, there was static. In the beginning, the end, such things held no quantifiable bearing anymore; if they ever did at all. What once was, is, and was to be ceased to exist. An infection had started, before the nothing, when this place was bound by the laws of progression. The infection took root, eating away until there was nothing, and it was everything. Where there was nothing, nothing was; and where nothing was, there was nothing. This, above all other things, was the antithesis to creation.

Where there was once a sky, now a purple tinged void, something appeared from the nothing. Was this some new spark, marking the start of a new way of being? The fires of creation finally bleeding through? Whatever it was, it was new. Whatever it was to where it came from and what it was to this place was difference enough. Through the tear fell a man of sorts, humanoid by all standards.

What sensors it was equipped with were never meant to deal with the absolute lack of everything. This was a new frontier. This was something the Cybermen had never knowingly traversed.

As it fell through the nothing, not even air present to carry its protesting voice, again something appeared from nothing; something that was always there at the end of not-days, and for all the not-days to come. What it was, was what always was, and this Cyberman fascinated it. This was something it had never seen, yet it had always known it was coming. The Cyberman represented a temporal paradox in a realm where time ceased to be.

"Curious..." a voice coming from everywhere and everything spoke. "Bolts. Nuts. Screws. What a curious thing you are... a thing of parts. Yet... you are familiar. Where are you from?"

The Cyberman continued to scream, it's electronic wails fell on no ears. Yet, the scream from its mind in this place was palpable.

"Casing... body and soul... tinged with Anti-Time." The Cyberman's casing began to shudder violently as the incomprehensible forces of this place began tearing at it. The remnants of a human body out in the open for a first time was seen. "My energies permeate you. As if... you've been here before. A paradox. How... exciting! What's that? Your name? Gareth? Hm. You're scared. Don't be. We... no, I am beyond fear here. All your machinery hurts, hm? Shall we fix you? Hrm."

From nowhere; muscle, bone, and tissue seemed to grow. The Cyberman, Gareth, was becoming a man yet again.

"And yet... I sense this is your nature now." What was now real was becoming unreal again, the flesh becoming unmade. "No. No. No tears. No... anxiety. Just go... hrm. Nowhere to go."

As the flesh was uncreated, the casing began to surround the Cyberman again, reattaching to it.

"Let me look into your mind again, little thing of parts. Sent here from... I see a city. Spires stabbing through red wisps of cloud. Anti-Time bleeding through. Braxas, it was called. The city of Braxas. I see now. This is but a stop in the circle you are caught in. I am but a step on this path, serving a function in your... temporal skirmish. I've done this before... or after."

The Cyberman's mind began reciting an old rhyme, broken, incomplete.

"End of days... All other ways." The entity understood. "Your temporal energy fuels me. I sense my growing power through every cycle. Every time you appear, and every time I send you through to... Ah. The planet Mondas. Where you and your Part-Men hail from. Your existence erased by war-mongers. Such laws do not make a difference here. Go. Take some of my power. Exist despite the laws you are bound by. Go. Spread my influence. Start at the start."

The entity, fueled by the temporal energy it had steady gathered from the paradox constantly sending the same Cyberman through to its universe, opened a tiny rip in reality leading to Mondas. Through this tear, a lone Cyberman, its legs gone, crawled uselessly from a Dalek pursuing it. Shipping the Cyberman through and closing the portal, the entity once again faded into the everything that was the nothing, and waited for the next Cyberman in the paradoxical circle it had discovered.


	14. Chapter 14 - A Calculated Risk

The Doctor wiped his mouth, setting his handkerchief down next to his recently emptied plate. The Corsair, sitting across from him, wiped their face down with their apron.

"I tell you, my friend, I've never eaten life I've just created. It is an odd sensation. Perhaps I'll name this new feeling after myself." The Corsair stood up, moving on to some new project, The Doctor imagined.

Content with letting The Corsair go off on their own antics, The Doctor simply leaned back into his chair. The war seemed so far away in this little castle of steam and gears, beneath the Citadel. Running about, creating, getting lost in the wonder of the simple things, and enjoying a good meal; it was tempting to run away and give it all up, like he did all those years ago. The Doctor knew he wouldn't. The Doctor knew he couldn't, for he was a soldier now.

"My friend!" The Corsair called, snapping The Doctor out of his trance. "There's something else in dire need of your attention!"

The Doctor sighed, getting up from his seat. Entertaining thoughts of doubt at this point was a useless endeavor. He had taken this face for a reason, and the war had already snared him with its great and terrible claws. As he walked through the lab towards his friend, he began to think of what he was going to say to excuse himself.

The Doctor had already been gone for too long, and he could not afford any more diversions. He steeled himself, knowing full well that nothing would distract him from his renewed sense of purpose.

"Hello? Yes? What is it?" A voice rang out. T

he Doctor stopped dead in his tracks. Whatever The Corsair had needed help with was obviously some sort of ruse. Instead, The Doctor found himself in front of a viewscreen, Romana on the other side.

"Ah." He simply said.

The Doctor turned around, eyes desperately darting about to find The Corsair. His friend was nowhere to be found. Romana regarded him with a warm smile, a contrast to her rather tired face.

"Hello D-" Romana stopped herself. "Hello, you."

"Hello, Romana."

The two of them did not do anything else for a moment, neither of them really knowing what to say. The Doctor found himself trapped, standing in front of the screen with nothing nearby to use to break the tension. Romana took initiative, taking a calculated risk by starting to shuffle some papers on her desk.

"I expected The Corsair." She finally said.

"Yes, well, he… they are rather busy apparently." From out of view, The Corsair tried to catch the attention of The Doctor. They waved their arms wildly, trying to push The Doctor onwards.

"They rarely aren't. What are you doing down there?"

"Dinner, actually. The Corsair is an interesting cook." The Doctor found himself chuckling before he could even finish the sentence, Romana joining in shortly after.

"I can't remember the last time I had anything that wasn't instant." She remarked.

The Doctor scratched the back of his head, feeling rather foolish in this situation. He had faced the Dalek legions in force, even before the Time War. Cybermen, Kyrnoids, demons and devils; he had fought them all. This, whatever his was, should've been easy. Perhaps that was the key to all of this. The Daleks had a face. The Ice Warriors had a quantifiable form. The Doctor didn't know what this was, and neither did Romana. This terrified them.

With encouragement from the Corsair's flailing arms, The Doctor finally seemed to find the words.

"Well, we could always alleviate that. Perhaps… you'd like to join me for dinner? Tonight? For old time's sake?" The silence that followed was palpable. The Corsair ceased with their flailing.

"Yes." Her response rang out through the lab, joining the song of twisting metal and hissing steam. "I'd like that very much."

The Doctor shuffled in place. "Wonderful. Yes. I shall see you tonight, then."

They both nodded, the viewscreen shutting off.

The Corsair wasted no time, jumping out from their hiding spot. They ran over to The Doctor and wrapped an arm around them.

"HAHA! We did it, my friend! Yes! Now, get out." The Corsair immediately started pushing The Doctor towards the exit.

"Wha-?" The Doctor asked.

"Your goal fulfilled, any more time spent here is extraneous. Go! Prepare! Leave me to the enigmatic machinations of my mind!"

Finally reaching the hatch, they shunted The Doctor through without so much as a goodbye. The Doctor sighed. He had not meant for this to happen. He had not meant for another distraction. Yet despite all this, The Doctor took a rather dire risk; The Doctor smiled.


	15. Chapter 15 - The Master: Hero's Heart

One, two, three, four. Over and over and over and over. It was the same, across every face. What was usually a dull roar was becoming a screaming wail as The Master slipped further from consciousness. Any attempts to reach for whatever secret weapon he undoubtedly had in his coat were stopped by the Cyberman shocking him again and again. This was not how The Master had imagined dying, alone in the trenches of some nowhere planet in the grasp of some paltry metal man. The next pitiful breath he would let out would likely be his last.

Gab, the student who had been watching nearby, found himself faced with a dilemma. He did not want to reveal his position, but he did not want to see this man die, either. There was something about him that fascinated Gab. His eye for patterns caught something when looking at The Master, not fitting into any mould Gab had ever seen before. P

utting aside any possibly dissuading thoughts, Gab found himself dashing to the rescue, the tatters of his school uniform fluttering as he ran. As he got closer, he passed a downed street sign. Grabbing it, he dragged it along with all his might.

"YAAAHH!" He screamed with the considerable strength of a timid school boy; which consequently wasn't all that much.

He lifted the sign and brought it down on the back of the Cyberman. A great clanging sound rang out as metal collided with metal, ringing throughout the dead city streets. What happened next was too fast for Gab to process; between his blinks he found himself face to face with the Cyberman. It had dropped The Master and turned to him, moving impossibly fast.

"Hero's heart." The Cyberman uttered, its arm starting to fade from view.

The Master lay on the floor gasping for breath. "Mercy..." he croaked, blinking wildly in an attempt to regain his composure. "Mercy..." he gasped again.

He stuck his arm in his coat, digging wildly for the device he had brought with him. Gab's high-pitched scream shocked The Master awake, his eyes darting upwards to see The Cyberman materialize its arm inside Gab's, severing it at the shoulder.

"GAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

That last push was all the Master needed. He sprung up to his feet, pulling the device out of his coat and slamming it on to the back of the Cyberman. It whipped around once again, sending Gab flying backwards into some rubble nearby.

"Hero's heart..." it bellowed again.

"No," The Master replied. "I'm afraid I haven't the constitution."

A crippling booming sound followed The Master's words, accompanied by a quick flash of light. As quickly as those had come, the Cyberman had vanished.

Gab lay on the ground, grasping his wound. "What... What was that?!" He wheezed, eyes full of tears.

The Master did not answer immediately, scoping out the surrounding area. The wind rushed in and around the fallen buildings, creating a discordant melody of sorts. The Master found it odd, if not pleasing. Finally, he turned to acknowledge Gab.

"That. That was an impossibly advanced Cyberman."

The Master took a closer look at Gab, noting a rather curious detail; Gab wasn't bleeding. He slowly approached, picking up Gab's notebook, which had fallen during the chaos.

"If you're referring to the device I used to dispatch it, that was an Omega's Mercy. Quick and dirty teleport to the heat death of the universe."

The Master read through the notebook in the space of five seconds, tossing it aside as soon as he was done.

"Cute. But altogether wrong. Too many variables left unaccounted for. Potential though. Tell me, boy, are you in any actual pain?"

Gab stopped writhing. "Of course I'm in pain, Miste-"

Gab realized now that The Master had brought it up, he wasn't actually in any pain. He felt numb, like the blood circulation had been cut off from a limb.

"No... No, I just.. I feel.. good. In a weird way.. but good." The Master narrowed his eyes.

"Curious. Up then, boy. Come along."

Gab got up, rather easily despite the loss of his arm.

"Where are we going now, Mister?" Gab asked, moving to catch up with the already moving Master.

In doing so, Gab forgot his notebook on the floor. The one thing that had kept him alive all this time, lay there utterly forgotten. It was all he had in these times, and Gab couldn't seem to care less. Gab broke his own pattern.

"Investigate." The Master simply replied. "Probe!" he called.

From behind a fallen news stand, the probe that The Master had brought with him popped out.

"Did you gain sufficient readings to construct a case?" The probe floated next to him, matching his pace.

"Oh yes, Master! Plenty!" The probe cheerily replied.

"Good. Begin scanning the boy."

They walked on in silence, or as close as one could get to it in a warzone like this. Gab's focus seemed to be on The Master at all times, seeming to forget his surroundings. His once cautious state of being slowly melting away. From deep within him, new memories began to surface; impossible images, sights, and sounds that he had no way of knowing. All the new information bubbling up in his head came to a singular conclusion: He knew who this "Master" was.

As the group reached the hoverbus where the family had been murdered, another aspect of this ongoing pattern of oddities presented itself. There was an audible shuffling sound from within, with thin wisps of purple energy emanating from where the bodies lay.

"Probe. Scan those energy waves." The Master said, pointing at the bus.

He kept his distance, his still-aching throat reminding him to be cautious. The Probe floated away from Gab, who was still staring at The Master, and began scanning.

"Identical energy signatures to those encountered with the Cybermen, Master."

The Master nodded, scratching his chin. It was obvious he had stumbled upon something larger than just oddly upgraded Cybermen.

"What are you staring at, boy?" He asked, turning to Gab.

"Mister, I feel funny." Gab said, with a rather elated tone. "There's something inside... my head."

The Master took a step back. "What?" he hissed.

"Attention Master! Energy signatures found within Cybermen and in this area match those currently spreading through this organic."

"Spreading?" The Master asked, taking another step back.

The boy's eyes began to fade and discolor, before taking on a sickly purple glow. The same glow began seeping out of his mouth, as if someone had placed a purple lantern inside his head.

"Boy, what is happening to you?" The Master demanded, now taking steps towards his TARDIS.

Gab finally spoke, gaze burrowing into The Master through unblinking purple eyes. "

It's you. The one who started..." Gab motioned to himself, then to the surrounding area. "All this. This wouldn't have been possible without you." Gab began exuding a static aura similar to what the Cyberman had been giving off.

"What are you, creature?" The Master stopped referring to Gab as "Boy", knowing full well that Gab had become something else entirely.

"You'll find out soon..." It replied, raising its arms. "Now, little thing, rejoice. Rejoice in the oncoming commune."

A beam of purple energy suddenly shot into the air out of Gab's mouth, The Master taking this as a signal of sorts. He was not keen on facing any more of these things unprepared.

The Master desperately looked around for a way to stop him, and found his salvation in a twisted bit of metal; the remains of a hovercar bumper. He lifted it with little effort, and dashed forward at Gab.

"Soon you will see! Soon the Anti One shall rise again!"

The Master swing with all his might, severing Gab's head from his shoulders. The head came off as expected, bouncing a few times before rolling to a stop. The light had gone, the body fell, and all was still. A swift decapitation, it seemed, was the reward for heroics.

Black blood-like fluid began oozing from the wound, and The Master was quite ready to leave this place forever. Yet as he watched the blood slowly pool, Gab's words ate away at his mind. He had started this? How? When? The Master was intent on getting to the bottom of this new mystery, unaware of the ramifications it truly held.


	16. Chapter 16 - Cheers

Trueness to oneself was something that The Doctor held very dear. Some of this friends, The Corsair being the prime example, shed much during their regenerations; their hearts changed, sometimes even their souls. Yet The Doctor was always the same man on the inside. It was being this man that had carried him through all the darkness he had faced.

The Doctor, as far as he was concerned, was no longer that man. Staying true to himself was a luxury he could no longer afford, and he was facing darkness worse than anyone had ever seen. Provided the war ever ended, and scholars were to look back, would they wonder what it was that drove this War Doctor? Could even he answer it himself? Such questions were left unasked, tossed into the void among the dead and broken bodies spattered across the cosmos.

Tonight, The Doctor wasn't thinking about any of that. It was in that thought process that The Doctor found his problem. Whether he liked it or not, he represented something bigger than himself. The days where we wasn't feeding the engines of war were happier ones, but altogether more selfish ones, as well. He was a strong force. he was an affective force, and if taking up the sword meant he could save more lives, who was he to argue? What was the alternative?

When he still wore his eighth face, and all the romantic sensibilities that came with it, he had tried to save people without getting involved. All it took was one failure to take all that away, and The Doctor had fought a long and bloody battle ever since. As sick as the thought would've made him, there was a certainty present in all of this. The Doctor had a set purpose that he was fully aware of. Contrary to all of that, he did not know what tonight was. Perhaps a pull to the light he had so direly missed, or perhaps it was something more. All he knew was that as he came up the steps to the memory projection chamber, the weight on his shoulders was lifted ever so slightly.

At the top of the platform, he saw a wooden table flanked by two matching chairs. A small unlit candle sat on top of the table, joined by a non-descript bottle and two crystal glasses. He looked around, the room empty besides the little set up.

"I couldn't decide where to go, so I figured we could go everywhere." Romana's voice rang out.

"Nowhere new, then?" The Doctor asked, turning to her.

Romana was wearing her white dress, the very same one she had worn all those years ago when they first met; minus the garish fury cloak, of course. It draped down her form, stopping just before her ankles and no longer falling to her feet. This version of her was taller than she had ever been, taller than even him. The Doctor smirked, thinking on this; she had never been taller than him before.

"Quite." she replied. "Honestly, you couldn't have put on anything nice?" Romana asked, regarding the Doctor with a critical glance.

The Doctor looked down on himself with a frown. He was wearing a new waistcoat. Romana walked past him, taking a seat. The chair creaked as she sat, an indication of its age.

"Your new waistcoat is nice, though. A little odd, considering the rest of you, but beggars can't be choosers." Romana said, motioning for him to sit.

The Doctor did as motioned, fiddling with the buttons as he did; the waistcoat was only just too tight.

"Good of you to notice." He said with a small smile, darting his eyes away.

The Doctor never looked at her for more than a few moments at a time, keeping his eyes trained on just about everything else. Just like the waistcoat, Romana noticed this, but chose not to say anything about it.

"I thought we were going to go to dinner." The Doctor said, attempting to beat the silence away.

"I thought we were going for a drink." replied Romana. She lifted the bottle, looking at it. "Only, you said dinner, because saying drinks sounds so much less professional. How many official dinners have we been to? They've become quite drab."

She rolled her hand, the liquid in the bottle rushing about on the inside.

"Paris." The Doctor said. "The Louvre."

Gallifrey melted away around them, the chamber reconfiguring around them. Romana grinned, opening the bottle and pouring them each a glass. As the liquid fell into the glasses, the changing scenery was reflected in it. It appeared distorted even as the room twisted to match The Doctor's memory. Giant pillars flanked by white walls shot out of the ground, rising into the sky.

At their apex, the roof materialized sealing the gap above them. Outlines of various civilians slowly came into focus, their footfalls becoming more audible as they went on. Paintings on the walls appeared sporadically, without any clear order or reason.

"Cheers." Romana said, the two of them clinking their glasses together.

The two of them both took a drink, both wincing as it went down.

"What is this?" The Doctor asked, trying in vain to suppress a cough. A quick glance at Romana would show that she was doing the same.

"Gods, I don't know. It was a gift from an admirer in my academy days. It's supposedly..." Romana coughed, holding a hand over her mouth. "Thousands... thousands of years old."

"It's quite... smooth." The Doctor replied, letting out a series of coughs afterwards.

"An admirer?" He asked, opting to look at one of the paintings as she answered.

"Yes... what was his name? Fax... Fed? Fattle? There was an "F" or two in there, somewhere. He left it at my door in the dead of night with this little note attached, poetry written on it in oh, what was it? The language made of the little diamonds?" Romana asked, making little diamonds in the air with her finger.

"Mirten." The Doctor said, watching the people walk by.

Because their table situated in the middle of a crowded area, the projections would sometimes walk through the two of them. It was quite jarring.

"Mr. F. had no real ear for meter. I spent the night fixing the poem up and returning it to him with a follow-up poem amounting to "no." I also kept the bottle." Romana grinned at The Doctor, both of them taking another drink.

The second time around, it seemed to do down easier, the two of them adapting to the bitter feeling. Before The Doctor would reply, a rather large man stood in front of Romana, inside the table.

The Doctor held his hand over his mouth, coughing. His throat was still burning, and he felt a laugh coming on as the large man looked around aimlessly with Romana still inside the projection.

"I've got it, don't worry." The Doctor said, finally recovering.

He dug into his coat and pulled out his screwdriver. He pressed a switch, a high-pitched whirring floating throughout the room. The other people faded from view, the screwdriver seemingly doing its job. As the man standing in Romana's place vanished, The Doctor saw her refilling their glasses. A slew of sparks erupting from the ceiling startling them both.

They lifted their arms to shield themselves. Romana gave The Doctor an annoyed look, blinking in disbelief as the room shifted around them. As quickly as the sparks had flew, the two of them found themselves in The Louvre sideways, they table and chairs sitting on the walls. Looking down at her feet, Romana found herself sitting directly on top of the Mona Lisa. Before she could say anything, it began to rain without waiting, their time at The Louvre starting to bleed into another one of their shared memories.

The Doctor non-chalantly picked his glass up as the wall (the floor if The Louvre, to their perspective) collapsed, revealing Ribos behind it, in the midst of a snowstorm. The Doctor looked at his glass, taking a hefty gulp, Romana doing the same.

"You always make things so bloody..." The Doctor interrupted her, coughing roughly.

"Odd." She finished, her coughs following after his.

Romana shook her head, standing up. She moved over to where the rain ended and the snow began. She kept her eyes on the divide, the water droplets and snowflakes hitting each other as if bouncing off invisible walls blocking their path.

"Well come on, then." She said. "Bring the bottle."

The Doctor cleared his throat, doing as he was told. He stood up, and took the bottle, moving to join her at the snowy divide.

"Alcohol must be making the memories all faulty." He remarked.

"Or maybe you're still just rubbish with machines and you don't want to admit it." Romana teased. Indeed, there was something amiss. The Louvre was already topsy turvy, but Ribos was shifting like a great ocean in the middle of a storm. Mountains raised, only to come flashing down, causing the land below to ripple and twist.

The Doctor and Romana looked at each other.

"Let's agree to disagree." He said.

"Agreed." She replied, taking the bottle from him.


	17. Chapter 17 - Ribos: All It Cost

( _Then_ )

In this dark room with the blinders drawn, there was no clock marking the passage of time. Instead, the steady blip of a heart monitor sat in its place. It had been steadily chiming for months now, the woman hooked up to it a victim of one of countless Dalek attacks. She lay here comatose; kept just barely alive in a painful, dreamless sleep. The room itself was rustic, dark wooden walls and cheaply carpeted floors compromising the bulk of it.

The bed was very much in the same way, old, but past the age where it was at all charming. Near the window, an unfinished crib for a baby never born lay in disarray, the crumpled instruction manual sitting next to it. A chair was placed by the bedside, having been subject to an inordinate amount of use as of late.

On the far side of the room, a door was carefully opened. It was as if the man entering was hesitant, hoping against all odds that something may have changed in the short time he was gone. As he poked his head into the room, the unchanging chime sadly reassured him that everything was the same. Gentle orange light that usually filled the room with a soft glow had subsided, the sun having already set behind the distant mountains.

"Hi, Laris." He said, walking towards the bed.

As he drew closer, his eyes fell on the unfinished crib. He sighed, shuffling it to the back of his mind like he had did so many times before. As he reached the bed, he moved off to the side and sat down in the chair, leaning back into it. It had been a long day, and he had toiled under the hot sun harvesting crops for seemingly unending hours.

He always thought that if he worked hard enough, good things would come to him. He thought that if he worked hard enough, Laris would wake up. Mason worked very hard, but neither good things not his wife's awakening were ever waiting for him when he returned.

"Mother thinks I shouldn't enlist. She says... She says that one man won't make a difference out there, but one man will here. She says she needs me here. But if I can change here, why can't I change out there?"

Mason leaned forward, running his hand gently through Laris' obsidian hair.

"I don't know if I can stay here, love. I don't know if I have the strength to watch you wither away any longer. All I have to do is send out the signal, and the recruitment ships will come and take me away. They always need more men. No matter what Mother says. Always more."

Mason pulled his hand away, resting his head on it. "I used to be able to cry about you. I used to be able to let it all out, and I felt a little better afterwards. Now I'm just... numb."

Mason was offered no response outside of the heart monitor's steady beat. "I feel like I'm falling. Falling, and I don't even care."

( _Now_ )

Mason collided with the ground, landing in a large snow bank. Tremors dashed across Ribos, just under the surface, and the base was already shuddering. He pulled himself to his feet, rushing inside. The courtyard of the base also served as a hangar, and mason knew once he saved as many people as he could, they'd be able to escape this new attack.

Soldiers ran every which way, each scrambling to try and escape, or secure themselves. It was a wild dance as they slammed into each other as they passed. It was disorganized chaos.

"Assess the situation. Assess the situation." Mason repeated to himself, rushing up a flight of stairs to the control room which overlooked the courtyard.

Having finally reached the room, Mason saw Lord Fop rushing around, demanding answers from panicking scanner operators.

"What's happening?!" He screamed, voice shrill with terror. "R-Rogue Planetoid! The Daleks must've... oh... oh no. No, I'm sorry!"

The operator shot up out of their seat and ran past Fop and Mason. Outside, things were getting worse; the hangar beginning to split as the ground tore open.

"Massive gravitational imbalance..." Fop uttered, face white as a sheet.

"Sir! Sir, we have to leave!" Mason called out. Fop turned to Mason, stunned by shock. "I was supposed to stay away from all the fighting... Take the cushy job, I..." Fop's voice cracked, eventually fading.

"Sir, please!" Mason ran forward to grab him, only to be stopped as the tremors cracked the room in two.

Fop and Mason were separated by a large gap, Fop being thrown backwards as his side of the room dangled over the hangar below.

Having been slammed into the already cracking glass, Fop was not at all composed.

"Mason!"

Mason ran to the gap, not daring to cross it. "Sir, I can't get to you!" He reached hand out to the fallen Time Lord. "I need you to jump to me!"

Through the window, Mason could see the ground tear even more, several ships crashing into each other and falling into the newly created chasms. Above, the rogue planet was close enough to seemingly swallow the sky. It was unimaginably large, looking as if a mess of paint was thrown over an already completed image. It was a dazzling cascade of color, bringing with it certain doom.

"I can't!" Fop cried, paralyzed by fear.

"You have to! Come on! I've got you!" Mason tried his best to reassure Fop, stretching his hand out even further than he had originally dared.

"Okay! I'll try!" Fop said, readying himself.

He stood up, trembling like mad, and began running towards Mason. The room behind him seemed to fall out from beneath his feet.

"Mason!"

Mason readied himself. "I've got you!"

Fop jumped, the room finally breaking off as he did. Fop flew through the air towards Mason, who managed to catch his flailing arms. Even as he did, the front of the control room crashed into the ground below. Pulling with all his might, Mason just barely managed to drag Fop up to safety, both men gasping for breath.

"Thank you." Fop gasped.

"Just... Just doing my duty si-" Before Mason could finish, more of the room broke off, sending Mason falling to the ground below.

He managed to secure himself on the remainder of the ledge, hanging on for dear life. He was no high-born Gallifreyan. If he died here, there would be no second chances. There would be no regeneration.

"Sir! Help me up!" Mason's knuckles whitened as he held on.

As the world collapsed around him, all that he had to put his faith in was a bit of rock and a proven coward. For a moment, Fop seemed set on saving Mason, reaching an arm out. As the base fell apart, he pulled his hand away. Without so much as another word, Fop turned tail and ran.

"Sir!" Mason pleaded, his cries falling on deaf ears.

His grip on the rock began to slip, and despite his best efforts, Mason knew he was going to die. He would not be mourned, nor would anyone remember his passing. The value of his life would be summed up in Fop's retelling of this tragedy with himself as the hero, commemorating the destruction of this nowhere planet.

He would become a statistic, another notch on an infinitely long belt; just like Laris. Mason accepted the inevitability of all this and eventually let go.

As he fell, the mountains being upended around him, he thought back on his wife. He thought of the life that could've been; and the child that never was, and he cried out in anguish. It was a pitiful sound, matching so many across the universe.

Yet something was wrong. Mason was falling for much longer than he had anticipated He was almost certain he should've hit the ground by now. He looked around, the rubble that came with him from the destroyed base appearing to be at a complete standstill. Ribos itself seemed frozen, having ground to a halt. Mason seemed to be the only moving thing here, all sound having vanished except for approaching footsteps.

Appearing from inside the base, and talking measured steps to walk along the frozen rubble towards Mason, a man presented himself. The man had long brown hair, stopping just before his shoulders. He wore a frock coat over a wingtip collar shirt and silver cravat, a matching vest and watch, and plain trousers and shoes.

He was tinged purple, his eyes glowing purple as well. He exuded an otherworldly aura that both fascinated and terrified Mason. As he opened his mouth to speak, his voice sounded distorted; as if coming out of a damaged radio.

"Hello, Mason. We should speak."


	18. Chapter 18 - Grasping At Smoke

Memory is an odd thing; a construction of images and sensations that one accepts as having happened. No one generally accounts faulty remembrance, and embellishments over time often become fact. The wonder of the memory projection chamber on Gallifrey was that it exerted a small amount of temporal energy when it was used. It acted as a camera of sorts, pointing its lens at the time that was needed.

Memory was truth through that machine, where stories and tall tales were torn apart and presented as they really happened. The only time this wasn't the case was when the link between the mind and the machine was defective or malfunctioning. Alcohol generally had that affect.

Ribos continued to swirl around The Doctor and Romana, mountains melting into the distant horizon. Small castles became cities, the bricks growing into large buildings and eventually exploding into dust. The dust became one with the snow, and the snow; now falling upwards, became one with the sky. It was a beautiful mess.

"I don't know why no one has ever thought of this." Romana remarked.

In her experience, there had never been an instance where the memory chamber had been used without a clear mind. This was unprecedented, but rather exciting. Romana, a warmth in her temples pushing her on, dared to get lost in the wonderment of it all.

"It's all so beautiful. Like the swirling of the time vortex." It was a clumsy simile, but it was an apt one; this place had become a vortex.

The Doctor took another swig, bringing the bottle up to his lips.

"It's like the… field of… of…" He held his hand over his mouth, completely losing his train of thought. "I don't even know, really."

Romana's hand brushed against his as she reached for the bottle. This time, The Doctor didn't immediately pull his arm away. Within this mess of memory, there was a gnawing loneliness. It was empty spectacle clumsily built on happier times, and he savored what little companionship he received from the gesture.

This did not stop him from eventually pulling the bottle away from her, grinning. Romana's response was a quick and playful slap to the back of his head. She smirked, the action allowing her to grab the bottle from him.

"Doctor?" She asked, after taking a long drink.

The Doctor, red and all-together numb in the face, made no effort to correct her.

"Yes, Romana?" Romana looked off into the distance, dark clouds fast approaching. The Doctor followed her gaze.

"I'm going to ask you something. It's been bothering me. Ever since the Sontarans. I didn't know how to bring it up, at first." Romana said, the room beginning to darken under the clouds.

Romana was quite nervous, and dug deep into the rest of the bottle for the courage to tackle this line of questioning.

"What is it?" The Doctor asked, starting to worry.

Perhaps it was a combination of the worrying and the nervousness that brought about what came next. The dark clouds that Romana had spotted now stretched out as far as the eye could see began to sink. The sky began to fall on them, swallowing Ribos and the Louvre up in a thick fog. The Doctor and Romana's minds were being affected, and as such, were unable to locate each other in the midst of this illusion.

At the edge of her perception, Romana heard The Doctor calling out through the haze.

"Romana!" His voice was muted, sounding as if it were miles away.

"Doctor!" She called back, her voice similarly getting lost in the cloud.

In reality, the two of them were standing back to back, each facing an opposite wall of the room, each lost in the memory machine. They were trapped in their collective unconscious; a dark place saturated with trauma and sadness. The empty bottle slipped from Romana's grasp, shattering as it hit the ground.

From The Doctor's perspective, the bottle breaking was ear-splitting, the sound assaulting his senses as if it were a piercing scream. He uselessly held his hands over his ears and shut his eyes to drown out the pain, his own scream joining the sound in a discordant melody. Quite suddenly, the song was over.

The Doctor looked around, trying to re-adjust himself to his surroundings. He found himself in a hallway that stretched off endlessly in both directions. The walls were cold, lifeless steel and they offered no reflection. The light was dull, but there was enough for him to see two wire ends sitting at his feet. He kneeled down, overcome by both curiosity and familiarity. As he did, he noticed he was no longer wearing his leather jacket.

He was now wearing his old red coat, and his reasonably-sized scarf was now ludicrously long. Atop his head was a fettered brown hat. He had been here before, so long ago. This was the start of the Time War.

"What is this?!" He demanded, the voice escaping his lips being that of his fourth life.

From both directions, his own voice responded. "Have I that right?"

The Doctor grew angry, screaming down the hallways in response. "I know what I should've done! I've played this over a million times in my head! This was the start! I know my mistakes! My regret! I don't need to be reminded that I'm a coward… I don't!"

The hallways offered no response other than that which had already come before.

"Have I that right?"

The Doctor grasped the two wire ends desperately and began smashing them together.

"I do!" He rasped out. "I do… It's me. It has to be me…"

Just adjacent to him, Romana was trapped in her own nightmare. She sat alone in a cylindrical room, devoid of light and sound. Her face, like The Doctor was one that had come before. Her long blonde hair fell over her face, and despite her pink coat, she was terribly cold. The room was without doors or windows. Deprived of her senses, Romana was still filled with a sense of foreboding dread.

This confused her at first, but her inability to rationalize it quickly turned confusion into fear. The walls of the room began to shudder and crack, her fear being validated as the walls of the room collapsed, Daleks bursting in. In the darkness, all Romana saw was thousands of blue Dalek eyes endlessly going off in all directions and the blinking lights atop their heads as they screamed.

"EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!"

Romana had nowhere to run as the Daleks bared down on her, slowly approaching. They were in no rush to kill her, intent on making her suffer. With no place to go, Romana let out a terrified scream; a scream that was lost in the mechanical chanting.

"EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!"

They did not fire their cannons at her, instead rolling closer. As they came into contact with her, they began pushing into her from all sides.

"EXTERMINATE!"

They pushed with all their strength, harder and harder.

"EXTERMINATE!"

Romana felt her bones begin to splinter and crack, her flesh tearing as they crushed her.

"EXTERMINATE!"

She raised her hand above her head in an attempt to signal for help that would never come. Her senses beginning to fail her, the Dalek's protestations began to fade away as she did,

"EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINate…! EXTErminate…! Extermina… Ex…"

As The Doctor uselessly slammed the wires together and Romana was crushed, the sound of glass rang out again.


	19. Chapter 19 - We Can Wander

The Doctor and Romana, trapped in their nightmarish fantasies, stumbled and both fell to the floor. Romana's "death" at the hands of the Daleks had shocked her into a moment of clarity, The Doctor feeding off it and also becoming lucid. Seeing themselves as they were, they finally found each other; but they were still trapped in the cloud of memories. In their stupor, they were able to sit up and lean on each other; still back to back. They sat like that for what must have seemed like hours, keeping each other afloat.

"After the Sontarans," Romana began, "Why did you look at me like that? You looked at me like… like you hated me." Her voice cracked near the end.

The look The Doctor had given her had haunted her since it had happened, and doubt had been eating away at her ever since.

"We're supposed to be there for each other." She finished.

The Doctor sighed. The mist cascading around the two of them seemed to have them trapped. For the time being, there was nowhere to run. There was nowhere to hide any of this, anymore.

"I looked at you like that because… because part of me was disappointed, or… ashamed. Ashamed that that was what you had become."

He brought his hand to his face, rubbing his eyes. He hoped that when he was done things would return to normal. They didn't.

The Doctor's words stung Romana, but she didn't dare turn around. If she did, and it was his fourth face looking back at her, she wasn't sure she could bear the sight.

"How dare you… You can't just judge me like that. The war changed me too! You weren't the only one who made sacrifices!"

Romana was angry and saddened all at once. The Doctor and her were each other's lifelines. As each sector was lost, as the deaths of her people began to weigh down on her, The Doctor was there for her. Much in the same way, as The Doctor's hands became more and more bloodied, Romana was there for him. Shame ruined that. Judgment destroyed the foundation they had worked so hard to build.

"But I should've been!" The Doctor countered, his voice wracked with pain. "I took up the blasted sword so that those I cared about would be spared. Why should we all be sullied by this blood? Why should we all rot away as the universe burns around us?" The Doctor's hands bunched into fists. "Only the monstrous thrive now, and I… I can't live to see you become that."

"We are what we make ourselves. I appreciate you wanting to protect me. It means more to me than you know, but all this was my choice to make. I chose this as much as you did."

They let the words sink it, both looking up as they realized someone was approaching them. Two figures walked out of the haze and stood in front of them. The Doctor saw his fourth life looking down on him with remorse. Opposite him, Romana saw her previous life.

"I miss us." She said softly. The Doctor only grunted in reply, not knowing what to say.

The two projections sat down next to their counterparts, mirroring their stance. The Fourth Doctor's hand fell over the second Romana's, the two of them looking relieved for it. This time, it was the current Doctor and Romana that mirrored them, letting their hands touch. They slowly slipped back into the machines, their older selves vanishing. Without realizing it, they had slipped back into another memory.

She left him near the end of his fourth life. All that bluster, all the bohemian charm fell from that satellite like he did. As he lay there dying, he was a broken man. The Fifth Doctor, the man who walked away from the fall, was a much humbler man for the experience. She left him between dimensions, a place of unending whiteness as far as the eye could see; never being seen again until his seventh life. This is where they found themselves. Adric was not there, nor was Biroc. It was just the two of them, the vast white void, and the TARDIS.

The Doctor came up to the doors of the TARDIS, opening them up. It had been a hard journey, but he was happy to be able to return to his own universe.

"We made it! Quick, quick! Inside!"

He turned to Romana in a questioning manner after she offered no response. She had been sympathetic to the cause of freedom for the Tharils. She was becoming more and more like him the more time they had spent together, and deep down, he was afraid that she wouldn't come back with him.

"I'm not coming with you." She replied, confirming his fears.

She stood resolute, with the specific mix of seriousness and jovialness that he had defined himself by. Even though it was to be expected, he was still taken aback by it. Not knowing how to react, he fell back on his bluster.

"Inside, that's an order!" He commanded, any semblance of command that the statement may have carried melted away as she smiled at him, shaking her head.

"No more orders, Doctor." She scoffed affectionately, looking at him. "Goodbye."

She saw through the bluster and loudness. She knew this was difficult for him and did her best to keep this from being any sadder than it needed to be.

"Wha- What… What a moment to choose!" He said, desperately probing her for a reason beyond the obvious.

He wanted more information, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew; the time lord council had placed her with him for a specific mission. This mission was over, and they wanted her back. Romana was not at all keen on these orders, and didn't want to return. This was the perfect excuse.

"But it is, isn't it? A moment to choose. I've got to be my own Romana. Goodbye, Doctor." She kept smiling, never betraying any other emotions outside of fondness and oncoming feeling of nostalgia.

The Doctor, not wanting to take a moment to think on it, lest he convince her otherwise, ran inside the TARDIS and fetched K-9.

"No, no, no, wait. Wait. There's something else. K-9. He'll be alright with you." He handed her K-9 as both her own companion, and something to remember him by.

She would never forget him, but he didn't want to take that chance.

"I'll take care of him." She said, understanding completely. She took K-9 and placed him on the ground beside her.

The Doctor spoke quickly, wanting to leave immediately.

"I'll miss you. You were the noblest Romana of them all!"

He ducked back into the TARDIS, and shut the door, leaving her in the other dimension. As it really happened, he left the dimension with Adric, and Romana continued to fight for the freedom of the Tharils. Yet as The Doctor shut the door behind him, he knew this was not how it could possibly end.

The Doctor threw the doors of the TARDIS open and dashed out, running after Romana as she walked away.

"Romana!" He called out, catching up to her. She turned to him, tilting her head.

"Don't… don't go. I know that you want to save these people and you don't want to return to Gallifrey, but please. We can save them together. Then we can run away from the Time Lords. I've done it. I've been doing it. You're my best friend. You're the best friend I've had in the entire universe, and I need you."

Romana smiled, shaking her head. "This… this is what I need to do."

"No, no, don't you see? We're Lords of time. We can do whatever we want to do. We can do anything. Be anywhere. Be anyone. We can be heroes to the Tharils. We can be wanderers seeing the wonders of the universe." He took her hands, squeezing them. "We can…"

"We can what, Doctor?" Romana was elated as he spoke, everything seeming to melt away as they held hands.

Everything was perfect, and neither of them were in their right minds to see the truth; this was too perfect.

Yet, as The Doctor leaned in and kissed her, neither of them seemed to care. This was the first time they had done this. It was terrifying, magical, and unknowable all at once; and it was grand.

"I think I love you." Said The Doctor.

"You think?" She asked.

"About you? All the time, now." He replied.

Romana pulled away gently, nodding.

"Okay…" She said softly.

Content to be anything and everything, the two of them walked off to the TARDIS hand in hand.


End file.
